Spider-Man: Inheritance
by Jesse Cullen
Summary: The future looks bright for Peter. With Mary Jane as his wife, he's starting to think it high time to hang up the Spider-Man suit. But a bloodthirsty being that walks through dimensions is primed to give Spider-Man the fight of this life. And this time it isn't just Peter's world he's fighting for. Sequel to The Insidious Six. Final part to my Extraordinary Spider-Man series.
1. The Scarlet Spider

Power of any kind couldn't stand against terror for life; in the natural order, Chaos was all that could be counted on to remain...Ben supposed that if he'd learned these, among all his other painful lessons, early on, that he wouldn't be facing death now; he wouldn't be here, in a completely different sphere of reality, caught in a cat-and-mouse game against a foe he could not best.

Still, he wouldn't back down. It wasn't in his nature. Retreat had never been his thing—something Professor Trainer and Desiree had been so keen to point out to him.

Ben gripped the thick line of webbing tighter as he thought of the two people from his home who had loved him when no one else had. He was farther from them now as it was super-humanly possible to be.

And he would never see them again, because he was going to die here.

 _They're safe_ , he told himself as he swung through a dank and dark alleyway. _they're safe and that's all that matters..._ Still, a part of him felt unbearable pain worse than any that blistered his body. His life had been turmoil from the word "go": orphaned and homeless as a baby; abused by every foster home he'd gone to; crime of nearly every description in his teens, and then, when he'd reached the threshold of no return, the serum had come into his life.

As he swung through the dark streets of this cleaner, less developed New York City, Ben knew why it was imperative to save this world. His Big Apple was one of danger at every corner. It was a place where hope was only a word for fairy tales. Technology and biology had formed a twisted marriage; law enforcement had had no choice but to adapt. Animal DNA spliced with human DNA had made the world rife with men and women of all description. Ben hadn't been one to join the conscripted special ops dedicated to fighting crime. He'd been hired to steal a new serum, one spliced with the DNA of a spider—something that had been prohibited since the advent of super soldier enhancements. He'd been prepared to do whatever it had taken—and then he'd seen Professor Trainer's terrified face; had heard the desperation in the man's voice and seen the fear in his young son's eyes.

Ben laughed bitterly as he perched against the side of an office building. In the face of goodness, his own selfishness and thoughtlessness had disappeared. One thing had lead to another, and Ben had imbued himself with the experimental serum. He and Professor Trainer had taken a stance against the very forces that they'd both worked for. Ben had donned a mask and become the Scarlet Spider.

 _And now you're going to bite it_. Ben laughed mirthlessly. His shoulder throbbed; his entire side burned; his enhanced senses were going haywire. It seemed as if the thing that had pursued him from his own world was everywhere in this calmer, safer New York City.

Ben wasn't afraid of it anymore. He'd resigned himself to the fact that it would best him. It was ravenous, far more than the threats he'd faced back home. What hurt the most was knowing that nobody here would help him. Desiree was safe back in their world; she couldn't patch him up or berate him for his recklessness. She wouldn't hold him when the weight of it all got too difficult.

Something like a sob choked Ben's throat. He lifted his mask. Air crisp with the hint of oncoming autumn soothed the terrible heat. He blinked away his blurring vision. He'd rarely cried in his life, and never over something as petty as himself.

 _You chose this, numbnuts,_ he thought. _You live as something like a hero, you gotta accept dying like one._

When he'd thought about his death—which had been plenty and often since he'd become the Scarlet Spider—it had involved something close to noble. Professor Trainer and Desiree had been crouched by him, clutching him as life ebbed from his body. Here, though, he'd be just a corpse on the pavement. That, he figured, made this New York City closer to the one he'd come from.

The air pulsed. He felt the familiar prickle of adrenaline—because it wasn't fear; Ben didn't feel fear anymore. A sound like a swarm of hornets reached his ears. Narrowing his eyes, Ben pulled his mask back down over his face. He clutched at his side where his contingency plan still rested, webbed against his skin.

 _Get ready to die_ , he told himself.

He leapt from his vantage point. Below a conference hall spread among green grass—again, a sight uncommon to his New York City.

He twisted in mid-air, preparing for another futile fight. The nightmare surfaced from behind an adjacent building. It was feminine in appearance and sound, but not even the most heinous of mutated creatures Ben had fought against looked anything like this. Black as pitch save for two blue glowing eyes in its face. Immense wings beat a mile a minute from behind it; it's legs tapered off in points like needles.

It's eyes narrowed as it caught sight of Ben.

"Little spider," it said in an acid voice. "Running away. Found you now. Going to eat you up."

"Come and get me, bitch," Ben spat. Not the most progressive turn of phrase, but he loathed the thing for more than just being what would kill him. He, after all, was just another meal for her and the thing that had created her—quite literally. Others like Ben had fallen from across worlds; now she was here, and he wasn't going to let her devour anyone else who wore the mantle of the spider.

"Shathra's prey is so mouthy." She flew towards him, her immense fingers outstretched. Ben met her head on, knowing it was futile. As they clashed, he thought again of his home. He knew that taking the fight to this world was a risk; he knew that he'd been one of a few remaining heroes to stand against Shathra and her master; hell, he'd long accepted that he wouldn't win.

But as pain exploded through him for the umpteenth time, he wondered why: why it had to happen in his world, why it had to happen to him; and why there wasn't anyone else around to help him.

* * *

"Don't lie to me. How many people told you that you fudged up your Spider-Man costume?"

Miles smirked beneath his mask. Billy had no way of noticing, of course. That was one reason Miles had kept the get-up on after they'd all left the convention center.

"How many people were packed in there?" Miles asked.

Billy shrugged. Teddy, walking hand in hand with his slender, dark haired boyfriend, piped up at once. "About two thousand including the exhibitors and guests. Why?"

Big as an ox as he was, blonde, blue-eyds Teddy wasn't dumb at all. It was a shame that he didn't seem to think that.

"About three quarters of that," Miles replied.

Ganke, taking up the rear of the group, snorted. "God, that is such bullshit. Half the people there go running around in skintight cosplay—not that I'm complaining—and yet you get singled out for doing something different."

"Not everyone." Kammy, walking in blissful stride beside Miles, glowered at Ganke. She had been one among the few who'd elected to play it demure. Her Captain Marvel costume was certainly more PG than anything most of the others in costume at the comic's expo had been wearing. For her efforts, Kammy had been rewarded third place in the costume contest.

"Sorry," Ganke said. "That was the Twitter warrior in me coming out."

"You're coming out?" Billy said with a grin. "Oh Ganke. All my dreams are blossoming into beautiful truth."

Ganke rolled his eyes but took the high road and said nothing.

Beneath his mask, Miles smiled. Nearly a month into his junior year of high school, and he felt on top of the world. Things had turned around at home; his mother had finally been handed ownership of _Below Decks_ , and turned the place from seedy hole-in-the-wall to a lively cafe and diner. His grades were better than ever, thanks to the influence of one Peter Parker; and above all else, he'd found his people. Ganke had been his friend since childhood, of course. But Billy Kaplan and Teddy Altman had waltzed in with their blatant ownership of themselves and completely melded with the relationship Miles and Ganke had had for years. Kammy, swept up in the budding romance between Billy and Teddy, had followed suit. Miles wouldn't have had it any other way. Sure they weren't popular, but popularity was something Miles had never cared dick for in his life.

The five of them walked as only teenagers who'd grown up in The Big Apple could walk through the night: confident and wise to the potential dangers of the street.

"Miles, seriously," Teddy said. "Are you going to keep that on all the way home?"

"Sure am. It took three months to see this thing. I wanna enjoy it for longer than three sweaty hours in the Nerd Ocean."

Miles felt immensely proud of his Spider-Man costume. Not just because he'd devoted such time and care to it, but because it was different from any of the other outfits of the web slinger he'd seen at the expo. Eschewing the red and blue of his personal hero, he'd gone for black with red webbing, and sewn in larger eyes.

"I'm amazed they even let me in," Miles said as they crossed the street. "It still looks a little too much like that psychopathic alien."

"That was a year ago," Billy said. "The only reason people bring that up now is for Twitter hashtags and MSNBC specials."

Miles hadn't told anyone—not even Ganke—about his own brush with the abomination out of space. He'd gone through months of counseling—at his mother's suggestion—to simply be able to sleep at night. After the attack, most of the Eastern seaboard had barely been the same. Even though New York City had rebuilt, Miles still felt the stain of the nightmarish night. It had taken worse toll on Peter, Mary Jane and Eddie Brock.

But they, like everyone else, had found ways to move on. In Eddie's case quite literally, and in Peter and MJ's…well, the reason Miles had decided to leave the expo on time rather than loitering was due to the wedding taking place the next day.

Thinking of the ceremony, Miles said, "Man, I am so damn glad that Pete and MJ didn't decide to get married in the summer. It's hot enough in this thing; wearing a penguin suit would have killed me."

"Why don't you just wear that under your tuxedo?" Kammy suggested. "Then when you get to the dance floor you can bust a move as the world's most unique Spider-Man cosplayer."

"What part of sweating doesn't register with you?" Miles said with a cheeky grin.

"You could always ditch," Teddy suggested. "Give me and Billy your invite. We'll totally gay up the place."

It was on the tip of Miles' tongue to say that Peter had them beat in that department—at least fifty per cent when it came to one now absent blonde, beefed up ex-journalist. But he himself didn't even understand the subtleties behind the weird consensual love triangle that had possibly existed between Peter, MJ and Eddie.

"Nah, that's okay. I'm one of the groomsmen. Can't disappoint my public. Besides, knowing you two, you'd start making out before the vows."

Kammy hummed in delight. "Maybe you should consider the offer, Miles. I could sneak in and do some sketching…"

"As if you haven't done enough of that as it is," Ganke muttered.

"Hey," Kammy said sharply, "my fan art makes me bank on . Where are you getting your supplemental income from?"

"My mommy and daddy," Ganke replied. "And I don't know if it counts as fan art if you draw pictures of two really real people. Could you imagine how Captain America and Iron Man would feel if they saw some of the things you drew?"

Kammy tossed her glossy, dark hair in dignified silence.

Miles accompanied his friends as far as the nearest subway entrance. The cab money his mother had forced him to take to the expo would cover his route back to Queens. Even though it wasn't yet ten-thirty at night, Rio Morales knew far more about the streets than Miles gave her credit for. In any case, Miles himself didn't feel entirely comfortable being out in darkness. It brought back too many memories of the dark, basement cafeteria of a hospital, one where something crimson and bloodthirsty lurked.

"Text me when you get home," Miles said to all of his friends at once.

"Likewise," Billy said. "Let us know how the party goes tomorrow, yeah? As much as I'm over the moon for Instagram model superstar, Mary Jane Watson's nuptials, it might get too boring with all those old people around—

"Twenty-five year olds are not old, baby," Teddy interjected.

"—so let us know if it gets too dead and we'll come and rescue you."

"Oh swoon," Miles sighed dramatically. He waved his friends off as they descended into the subway. Then, once they'd gone out of sight, he turned his attention to the street. It wasn't an entirely busy night in the Big Apple; he'd be able to get a cab without much trouble. Picturing the expression on the face of whomever he hired, Miles haled a passing taxi.

The driver looked him up and down, shook his head, but opened the door nonetheless.

"You're a bit tall for Spider-Man," the cabby said.

Miles had, indeed, sprouted up considerably over the last year. At this point, he was a good four inches above Peter's height.

"You should see me in heels," Miles said.

"I'll pass. Where you headed?"

"Queens."

"Alright. It'll be about twenty minutes. Hope you don't mind if I keep the radio on classic rock. Some of the shit you young people listen to drives me up the wall."

"Cool cool." Miles sat back, and looked out the window.

Less than nine months prior, he'd have considered a ride home from Manhattan a luxury. Hell, the idea of getting supplies to make the costume he'd worn had been nothing but a pipe dream. His mother worked hard for what they had, and in turn, Miles had put his nose to the grindstone. He hadn't gotten into a single altercation at school since January, despite having ample reason in the form of the many dickwads roaming the halls.

And yet he still didn't feel as if he were doing enough. Sure, he could get a part-time job; yet his mother didn't want that for him, either.

"Focus on school," she'd said. "You don't need extra cash right now, baby. We're doing fine."

It was almost as if she didn't want to go back to the hand-and-mouth of the old days. She hadn't even started dating, despite the fact that she had a string of pretty decent guys in her orbit. Miles had insisted that it was fine by him—and he honestly wanted to see her happy before he went off to college—and yet, still, she hadn't capitulated to anything. Sure, she wanted him to pursue post-secondary; but at the same time, Miles couldn't reconcile the fact that she was fine with him going after independence in this way, yet not allowing him to do so when it came to contributing to money.

Looking back at his masked reflection, Miles shook his head.

One little step at a time.

That was what his therapist had told him. A few little leaps would eventually lead to the top; jumping too high would only plummet him to the pavement.

"What the hell is that?" The cabbie peered through the windshield. Miles' attention turned from the nearby sight of the Queensboro Bridge to a point between a cluster of apartments.

Miles frowned, and strained to see through the darkness.

"Is that...Spider-Man?" The cabbie said.

Whether or not it was Spider-Man, neither Miles nor the cabbie had any time to discern. Something big, black and hideous seized the red and blue-garbed figure and flung it through the air. The man tumbled earthwards with the force of a bullet train towards the cab.

Miles yelped and had just enough sense to duck before the front windshield caved in.

Miles had taken enough time in both therapy and online self-defense courses to know that it behooved him to think quickly. While the cabbie shrieked in the seat next to him, at a complete loss for what to do, Miles slowed his thinking down—again, something he'd learned in therapy.

He was afraid, but he didn't have to freeze. He had his limbs and his wits, and there was still a great chance for action in that event. So he unbuckled his seat belt and slid from the passenger side, hoping that the big lug dressed as Spider-Man wasn't dead.

The man wasn't dead; he wasn't even dressed completely as Spider-Man. Though a majority of his costume was red as blood, the blue portion appeared to be nothing more than some kind of hoodie with a black spider emblazoned on it.

 _And I thought my cosplay was original_ , Miles thought. He tentatively approached the figure. The man jerked and righted himself into a defensive crouch. Miles' eyes widened as he saw blood pouring from a wound in the man's side.

"Holy shit." Panic started to insinuate itself in his mind.

"Who…are…you?" The man's voice was rough, like gravel and bullet casings. Miles didn't even have it in him to answer. He had to get the poor dude to the hospital, regardless of the now panicking cabbie, the shattered windshield, or his own growing fear.

Miles took a few steps forward, and held out a hand despite the man's calm poise. "Come on," he said. "We've gotta get you to a hospital. I think Cedars is around here somewhere, if you just—

Something whirred above Miles' head—something separate from the darkness of the September night. He caught a glimpse of rapidly slicing wings, and narrowed white eyes.

Then the impostor Spider-Man leapt from the hood of the car. He seized Miles around the waist. Propulsion sent them both hurtling through the air. Miles braced himself for impact.

Opening his eyes, he realized that he was airborne. The hooded Spider-Man was swinging webs left and right, taking them both across an empty stretch of field.

"Can you swing?" The man yelled; it sounded as if he were gritting his teeth.

"No!" Miles yelped. "I—I'm just wearing costume! Who are you?"

"Goddamn it," the man spat. "Gotta get you outta here before—

The Spider-Man holding Miles swerved suddenly. The immense, winged, black form nearly collided with them. It was as his rescuer swooped towards a nearby warehouse that Miles got a good look at the obsidian creature. It looked almost like the alien that had nearly killed both he and his mother last May. Only it had wings like a wasp, immensely sharp fingers and what appeared to be stingers for feet. He could practically feel the disregard for life emanating from it.

Or maybe it was that he'd seen the blood on the things claws and put two-and-two together in conjunction with the blood seeping from the scarlet Spider-Man's ribs.

 _Keep calm_ , he thought. Just keep calm. _Even if you won't be okay, you're okay right now._

The hovering wasp monster darted forward. Miles yelled a warning, but the bleeding Spider-Man had already foreseen the attack. As deftly as he could given his wound, he feinted left, and then arched. Miles held tight, burying his face in the hero's shoulder as a wave of nausea hit him. He didn't see what happened next, but he felt the impact of something heavy. Whoever the Spider-Man was, his grasp on the web faltered. The next moment, Miles tumbled through darkness.

He hit cold, hard concrete, and saw stars behind his eyes.

His entire body burning with pain, Miles nonetheless managed to get shakily to his feet. He'd landed in the loading dock of the warehouse. All around him, silent piles of freight towered nearly to the ceiling. A low buzzing filled the air, and Miles knew that it was coming from the wings of the creature that had tackled the strange, new Spider-Man.

Hands shaking as if he were in an earthquake, Miles reached into the pocket of his costume. Fortunately his phone hadn't been broken. It occurred to him to contact someone—anyone—other than the police. His mother, for sure; Peter, or MJ, even though they'd be busy getting ready for the wedding tomorrow. He wanted to call his friends, just to hear their voices or, if it came to it, say goodbye.

But Miles Morales had already had a brush with death, and survived, more than a year ago. He wasn't a little kid anymore, no matter how much he still felt as if he were too young to have faced his own mortality twice now. He hit the emergency button on his lock screen, and focused all his energy on moving.

As he dragged himself towards the gaping hole in the side of the warehouse window, he thought about the imposter Spider-Man. The emergency responders would arrive any second now, of that much he was certain. He had to get to the man who'd rescued him, had to make sure he was okay. Already the blood that had been pouring from the stranger was drying sticky against the outside of Miles' own cosplay.

Miles looked back. All that faced him was the endless darkness and maze of pallets stacked with freight. He couldn't see the hooded Spider-Man; he couldn't feel anything aside from a chill creeping up the back of his neck. To turn and face what he knew hovered behind him would appease the morbid sense of needing to see what it would be that eventually killed him. But he wasn't stupid. He waited, the buzzing getting louder and louder as the thing drew closer. He snaked a hand into the other pocket of his costume…

He could feel some strange kind of electricity pulsing from the beast. He heard the air vibrate as it raised either a clawed hand or one of its stingers.

With a scream, Miles turned round. The monster was less than six feet from him. He lunged at it, his taser held forward. It connected with the creature's middle—the part of it that he could only think of as its thorax. White sparks flew as Miles jabbed his taser again and again into the thing's body. It shrieked in a most inhuman way, and Miles nearly passed out at the sound, but held his turf. The beast soared backwards, its body twitching as electricity rolled around it.

At first, Miles felt a swell of pride. He'd emerged victorious against the thing…a moment later, though, his heart turned to ice. The hovering creature shook the final sparks of electricity from its body. It flexed its fingers, and glared angrily at Miles.

"Stupid bug." It's voice sounded like a nest of angry hornets. "Doesn't smell like the other spiders. Shathra is still going to eat you nice and slow."

"Better pieces of shit than you have tried," Miles spat. He didn't feel particularly brave at the moment. But he wasn't going to let the thing kill him while he cowered like a little kid.

The monster snarled. It tore through the air, and Miles waited for the inevitable. But again, an external force saved him. The hooded Spider-Man burst, seemingly from nowhere, and shoved Miles out of the way again. Miles staggered to his feet just in time to see the strange hero leap to meet the wasp-like monster strength for strength. His fist connected with its face, but it was a losing blow.

"NO!" Miles screamed a moment too late. The stinger at the end of the monster's body impaled through the body of the fighting, bleeding hero.

Red and blue lights danced. Blood spurted onto the concrete floor and splattered against the freight piles. The wasp monster's eyes widened in something encompassing a smile of victory. Then it flung the dying Spider-Man across the floor.

Miles heard the shouting of a police officer speaking on a megaphone, but the noise didn't register. He saw the wasp monster start, spooked by the sound, and flit towards the dark ceiling.

He didn't care that it was possibly still watching—didn't care that help had come. He walked on shaking legs towards the bleeding form. By the time he reached the man, all the strength had disappeared from his legs.

The Spider-Man on the ground rolled over as Miles neared. Miles did his utmost not to look at the gaping wound in the man's chest. This wasn't _his_ Spider-Man, but that didn't matter because he was still clearly _a_ Spider-Man, and that was all that mattered. That the man had been heroic, had gone out of his way to rescue somebody that he hadn't even known…

"It's fine." Miles hands shook as he cradled the man's head, needing to do something to keep him alive. "You're…you're gonna be okay, Spider-Man…there's help outside now and—

A soft laugh escaped the man's lips. "N-not…Spider-Man…"

"Okay…Not Spider-Man, you're going to be okay now…"

But he only shook his head in response. He pawed at his mask, and Miles realized that the man didn't have the strength to lift even the slight fabric. Miles removed his own mask, and then carefully peeled the hero's off his face.

Their eyes met. The man looked as if he'd lived a hard life. His nose had been broken several times, and he had the heavy countenance of someone who'd seen death, fought battles he'd lost more often than not. And yet, as life ebbed from him, he didn't look nearly as rough as he could have.

"You're brave," the man whispered. His body shuddered, but he barely acknowledged the pain. "Braver than…most kids where I come from…"

"Y-you're obviously not a New Yorker." Miles had to keep talking, had to keep the man conscious until the police and EMT's arrived—because that was what they were supposed to do: help. Stop death in its tracks…

A small smile graced the man's face. God, but he looked like he was only a few years older than Peter and Mary Jane. The man's hands reached inside of his costume. He pulled out a glass phial, stoppered with a syringe in one end. A deep purple liquid swirled within the glass confines of the casing.

"T-take this," he rasped. "Gotta…save yourself now…I couldn't."

"I…" Miles took the syringe, not knowing what to say. He'd never been this close to death before. Even though he didn't know this man, he knew that he was good—that he didn't deserve to die this way. "Wh-what is it?"

"P-power…like mine…"

Miles swallowed, and curled his fingers around the glass.

"Brave kid," the man repeated. His eyes fluttered close. Another spasm ripped through his powerful body. Something like a whimper escaped his lips. "Wanna go home," he gasped. "Pl-please…I wanna go home…"

Miles sobbed. Tears streamed down his cheeks. He clutched the strange hero to him, comfort being all he had now. "No," he whispered. "Don't…"

The man's body stilled.

He was gone.

Miles screamed, the noise echoing around the almost deserted warehouse. Why hadn't help arrived? Why hadn't he been faster, or stronger, or smarter? Why the hell hadn't his Spider-Man arrived to put a stop to this? Why did there have to be death, when it came to that?

A droning buzz began to sound. The thing was coming back, swooping from the darkness after tasting its horrible victory. Miles gritted his teeth, and pulled his mask over his face. He didn't care that he was outmatched by the murderous being—he wanted it dead, and he wanted to be the one to kill it.

Just as he made to lunge at the creature, the air in front of him rippled. A pale, green spider's web made of light split the space in front of him as if it had been cracked like a pane of glass. A woman stepped from the center of the web. Dressed in a black and white karategi, she stared down the hovering wasp monster, her body bristling with either fear or rage, Miles couldn't tell.

The woman tossed her strawberry blonder hair behind her shoulder, and held her hands out before her, thumb, pinky and index fingers pointed upwards. Yellow lights like web lines shot from her wrists and hit the creature at several points on its body. The monster shrieked. A moment later, the mysterious woman flung the beast through the web that had cracked what seemed to be the very surface of reality. The black body of the murderous creature disappeared, leaving Miles and the newcomer alone with the body.

The woman whirled around, and a strangled cry escaped her throat.

"Ben! Ben, no!" She fell to her knees, looking at the fallen hero's face. Her shoulders heaved as she held the man called Ben to her.

"I tried," Miles whimpered. "I didn't…I don't know what to do…"

The woman looked at Miles. Despite the tears filling her eyes, she managed to get herself under control enough to rise to a half-kneeling position near Ben's body.

"You're not one of them," she whispered.

"O-one of wh-who?"

She sighed, and cast a sorrowful look at Ben. "Not of this plane, at least. But you know the spider totem, don't you? The warrior who uses the spider as his power?"

Miles shook his head. "No. I…I don't know Spider-Man. I'm just…I'm just a kid…" He felt the weight of the syringe that Ben had given him heavy against his palm. Not knowing why, he stowed it as secretly as he could in the pocket of his costume.

The woman sighed. "Just a child. You don't deserve to be present for this…"

"Did you know him?"

The woman nodded, and this time she wasn't so good at keeping herself composed. "Not well," she said. "But enough." She placed a kiss on Ben's forehead. Then, with surprising ease given Ben's weight and her slender form, she stood, holding his body to her own. "You need to leave here. You'll be safe for now. You're not the totem of this world, but Shathra won't be gone for long."

Miles blinked. The woman held her hand aloft, and a moment later another green spider's web splintered the air before her. Footsteps were now thundering around them—the police had arrived at last, and Miles was too wise in the potential danger of being a young black man at a crime scene to want to stick around. But still, he didn't understand.

"What's going on?"

The woman sighed, close to the light of the spider's web. "For your sake, I hope you never find out." And with that, she stepped through the web with Ben's body, and both disappeared.

In a zombie state, Miles turned and hurried for the shattered window. Just as he heard the police officers yell "freeze!" he took a deep breath, and jumped towards the nearest tree. Somehow he managed to catch the nearest branch. His wrists screamed; his body ached, and his mind felt as if it had been thrown asunder by a tornado.

He still had Ben's blood drying on his costume. He needed to get himself clean, needed to go somewhere familiar. As he ran for all he was worth away from the warehouse, ignoring the lights of the cop cars and ambulances, he forced himself to think of his mother; of his friends—Ganke and Kammy would probably be home by now. Billy and Teddy lived on the East Side, and were likely snuggled together on the subway…

And the wedding. The wedding was tomorrow. His mother would be up there, next to her best friend, dressed to the nines for two people who deserved not only to be with each other, but to not have their special day blighted by something this…impossible.

 _Home_ , Miles thought as he got to his feet. He was vaguely aware of the fact that he should be falling to pieces—it had all happened so fast and be so bloody and unexplainable. At the very least he should be seeing pink elephants dancing across West 39th.

But if there was one thing Miles had learned—not just since nearly being eaten by an alien, but throughout his entire turbulent life—it was that willpower was the one thing that couldn't be taken away from him. He'd be damned if this would break him, at least until after the cleanup tomorrow.

He headed to the nearest subway. People wouldn't ask questions of a young dude dressed up as a red and black Spider-Man, least of all one covered in blood.

As he made down the sidewalk, he forgot entirely about the syringe still weighing down the pocket of his costume.


	2. Vows

Peter had never been more terrified in his life. He faced the foe before him, eyes wide, palms sweating, the blood completely drained from his face. He'd have taken anyone—the Lizard, Electro, the Green Goblin, Doctor Octopus, and the symbiotes—over the opponent staring him down.

"Dude, you're going to pass out if you get any paler. Calm down and get it together." Johnny Storm's voice, and million-dollar playboy smile, did little to soothe Peter. His friend hovered behind him, both of them reflected in the mirror. Yet only Johnny appeared composed.

Grimacing, he reached around Peter's shoulders and readjusted his black bow tie.

"Pete— _get a grip_. I ain't afraid to drag you to the altar."

"When was the last time you got married, Johnny?" Even to his own ears, Peter's voice sounded a bit too high-pitched.

Johnny only grinned. "In Vegas? At least a few times. Legally? Never. I can't be tied down. I gotta do something with all these wild oats. You, on the other hand, are getting married to the most gorgeous woman in the world. And it's about damn time, if you ask me."

"And me." Bobby Drake, lounging on one of the armchairs nearest the mini-fridge, raked Peter up and down with his winter-blue eyes. He whistled. "Damn, dude. You cut a fine one in a tuxedo."

"It isn't the most uncomfortable thing I've squeezed into." Peter glanced down at the suit he'd be getting married—actually married—in. Part of him felt as if this whole thing were some epic practical joke, or even a movie. "Is this for real? Like, I'm…actually doing this?"

Johnny's nostrils flared. "No, we plied you with ayahuasca and you're tripping balls right now."

"Hey," Bobby said. "Language. There's a child present."

Miles, who hadn't said as much as three words since he'd arrived at the church, broke from his distracted reverie and peered owlishly at Bobby. "I'm seventeen," he said. "I've heard and said worse…just not in front of my mom."

"Ah, he's alive," Johnny said. "Thank God. No offence, little dude, but you look bushed. That expo must have kicked your ass, huh?"

"Yeah. The expo." Miles frowned and looked at his shiny dress shoes.

Peter, Johnny and Bobby all glanced at one another. Nobody said a word. Some kind of unspoken oath had been formulated over the last year. Following Peter and Mary Jane's engagement, everyone had gone out of their way to not disturb the peace, especially when it came to one now absent person who, by all rights, should have been standing next to Peter as his Best Man.

Perhaps that accounted for the heightened dread. For the last ten months, both Peter and MJ had needed their rock, and he hadn't been there. Granted, it had allowed them to rediscover each other; Eddie's absence had also opened the door for Peter to form a close friendship with Johnny and Bobby. But those friendships, while valued, paled in comparison to what had existed between Eddie, Peter and Mary Jane.

Someone knocked on the door. A voice—belonging to the officiant of Peter and MJ's wedding—said, "Twenty minutes to go. Better hustle unless you're planning on making a runaway groom."

"I'm going to be sick," Peter said suddenly. His guts roiled. He felt a mounting need to run away. He loved Mary Jane so much, but what right had he to be her husband? A year ago he could have barely provided for himself, let alone someone who deserved so much more than his scrawny, geeky self.

Johnny grabbed Peter by the shoulders. Peter rather thought he felt heat coursing from Johnny's palms like fire. He narrowed his eyes. Johnny may have been able to actually afford his tuxedo, but flaming on right here would be the king of all stupid moves.

"You," he said, "are going to be right as rain. It's just jitters, Pete. I felt the same way when we went dimension hopping, and now look at where I am. Hot as all get out, if you'll pardon me saying so."

"It's not going to be long," Bobby said. "Less than half an hour, my man."

"What if I trip over the vows?" Peter's heart started to race. "What if I trip over my feet? What if she runs? What if someone attacks the church in the middle of—

"I'm gonna slap the dumb out of him," Johnny announced to the room at large. "Mind if I do that?"

"I'm scared," Peter said, and he really was. Scared that any of his unfounded fears would actually come to pass; scared of what would happen after.

It was Miles, still speaking to the floor, who pulled Peter from the edge of a complete meltdown. "It'd be pretty useless if you weren't, Pete." He smiled a little. "It's scary, right? But you've gotta do it…you and MJ need each other. More than anyone I've ever known that's for sure. Besides, you'll be one of the forty-nine per cent that doesn't end in divorce, and that's mythic rare shiny in this day and age." He sighed, his smile fading. "You won't have to die alone now…nobody should have to do that."

Again, the three adults glanced at each other, although this time in concern. Before any of them could so much as voice their worry, the pastor's voice sounded from the other side of the door once more.

"That wasn't suggestion, fellas. This is a wedding. You gotta be up there before the bride."

Peter took a deep breath. He wouldn't think of his wedding as something to be conquered; that was just messed up. Besides, the last year had been relatively peaceful in New York City, and he didn't want to go cooking up trouble when the table wasn't even set for it.

 _You're going to be someone's husband_ , he told himself. _That's it; that's all. Nothing terrifying about that aside from the expectations placed on men by society and pop culture…_

She'd make it better, though. That was Mary Jane's whole style. She approached everything—from a stressful shooting day to battling with alien goop—with that beautiful, level head of hers. It would be all right— _he_ would all right—because MJ was probably champing at the bit to go down the aisle and kick the ceremony in its ass.

* * *

"I can't do this." Mary Jane paced back and forth around her dressing room. "This is insane— _I'm_ insane. And I really, _really_ need a cigarette."

"No, you do not," said Aunt Anna from her seat near the make-up table. "And you are not insane. You're getting married. There's a world of difference between insanity and matrimony…although I've never actually figured out what that was."

It was on the tip of MJ's tongue to tell the woman who'd been like a mother to her that she had no business talking about marriage. But she knew that thought—like her irrational fear—was born of nothing more than nerves. Aunt Anna, like Rio—also watching MJ's gradual descent with aloof interest—was single because she chose to be.

MJ stopped in front of the floor length mirror and looked down at the sleek, white wedding dress. "Are you guys sure I shouldn't take it in a little? There's still time to drive to the boutique…"

"Calm down," Kitty sighed. "You're stressing me out."

"Stressed?" MJ laughed. "Sister, you don't know the meaning of the word." She wanted Peter to be there to pull her back from a spiral. Not for the first time since he'd decided to take off for parts unknown, she wanted Eddie to be there for the both of them. But she wouldn't be seeing Peter until she walked down the aisle; and Eddie was likely anywhere between Des Moines and Seoul for all anybody knew.

"We had a conversation a long time ago as I recall," Rio said. "Remember? You being Mary Jane Watson and not backing down from something that scared the pants off you?"

"I'm not wearing pants," MJ said distractedly. "I'm wearing a seven thousand dollar wedding dress. And I'm not going to be Mary Jane Watson anymore…I'm going to be Mary Jane Parker."

"Watson still in your professional life," Kitty noted. "It would be way too confusing for people to watch the next self-defense with Captain America and Mary Jane video without recognizing your name in the credits."

Kitty's words stirred a bit of MJ's old fire. She was better than falling to pieces on her wedding day. She was a well-respected Instagram model and now YouTube sensation. Not only had her online following grown significantly in the last year, but it had done so to the point where The Avengers had recruited her to teach self defense to the rest of the world. Cap would tell her to get a grip; Natasha would…well, in all honestly, Nat would have taken MJ's fear to heart, thrown plastic explosives at the wall, and carried them both away via grappling hook and helicopter, but that was quite beyond the point.

"Oh god," MJ whispered. "I'm getting married." In spite of her histrionics, she couldn't help but smile a little.

Mrs. Peter Parker…it had a nice ring to it.

Someone knocked on the door. "The music is starting in five," said the voice of the pastor. "I already had to drag the men out by their ears. Don't make me come in after you."

"That's our cue," Rio said. She, Aunt Anna, and Kitty all got to their feet. MJ paled and turned to face her aunt. It would be she who gave Mary Jane away, which couldn't have been more fitting. But maybe if MJ appealed to the strict single lady in Aunt Anna, she could still worm her way out of this before she inevitably screwed it up.

Aunt Anna's beautiful face fell into a thunderous frown. She strode across the room on her supermodel's legs, tucked her arm firmly through her niece's, and all but dragged her away from the mirror.

"Don't start," Aunt Anna said through her dazzling smile. "I may not have brought you into this world, but by the power vested in me through adoption's court, I am entitled to take you out."

"Yeah," Kitty said, readjusting the shoulder strap of her pale orange bridesmaid's dress. "You did not shove me into this just to turn and pull a Julia Roberts."

MJ took a deep breath. They were right, of course. She and Peter—and nearly everyone in their social and personal spheres—had been planning this wedding since last summer. Not a damn thing had gone wrong in that time. Yet it had all gone by so fast—too fast. Was she, Mary Jane, former party girl, really ready for a domestic life with a man who moonlighted as a superhero?

 _Yes_ , she realized. _Yes I am._

Rio led the way into the corridor. Aunt Anna and MJ followed, with Kitty taking up the rear. Just as the door clicked shut, panic clouded Mary Jane's judgment. She whirled around, nearly wobbling on her high heels.

"Crap!" She squeaked. "I left the ring in there and the door locks from the inside!"

Kitty rolled her eyes. "You did? Great, this whole affair has exploded and you've ruined—oh my god, I didn't know Viola Davis was coming to your wedding!" She pointed somewhere down the hall. MJ, Aunt Anna, and Rio all turned and stared, searching for one of Mary Jane's personal heroes. MJ, seeing nothing, turned in time to see Kitty push the door open.

"False alarm," she said sweetly. "And the door so wasn't locked, MJ. Just take a deep breath. It'll be fine."

"But I could have sworn I heard it click," MJ said distractedly.

"Never mind that now," Aunt Anna said. She nodded at Rio and Kitty, who'd retrieved the rings from the dressing room. "You two need to get up to the altar yesterday."

They both nodded and scurried away.

MJ's arm trembled. Aunt Anna tightened her grip.

"You're going to be fine," she said. It was something she'd repeated time and time again after Mary Jane had come to live with her. Every failed test, every broken relationship and hangover had resulted in those words: _you're going to be fine_.

As the familiar organ music sounded, Mary Jane made herself believe that everything would be okay. Then she and Aunt Anna entered the reception hall, and MJ forgot about everything but the man standing at the altar.

Everything would be fine.

Unless, of course, the outside world chose to interfere.

* * *

"Everything looks fine." Natasha said into the commlink. She peered down at the street below. From her vantage point near the church on East 5th, she could see all the agents planted among the civilians: an elderly couple sitting near a cafe, a young man walking a handful of dogs, and the hotdog vendor just to name a few.

"We're good over here." Cap's voice came crackling through transmission a split-second later. "Just some traffic accidents. I thought I saw a mugging, but it turned out to be bunkum."

Natasha chuckled. "Bunkum? Come on, Steve. We've been through the use of 1940's slang."

"Forgive me. I meant that it turned out to be bullshit."

"Good boy. Tony, how's things from the air?"

"EVERYTHING LOOKS CLEAR FROM UP HERE!" Tony yelled, somewhat needlessly. The rush of wind belied the fact that he was flying around the entire perimeter of New York City. "TRAFFIC IS MOVING STEADILY ALONG THE JERSEY TURNPIKE, AND THERE APPEARS TO BE SOME KIND OF FLASH MOB NEAR CENTRAL PARK!"

"You better be reimbursing the bill for my hearing test," Natasha said.

Tony chuckled. "Chillax, N-Ro. Just having some fun. It's not often we get to do something this damn lazy."

"Well, knock on wood it stays that way." Natasha peered through a pair of binoculars. For one moment she dreaded that the chopper she saw coming to rest at the roof opposite the nearby church was some kind of gang affiliate. Then she relaxed, seeing nothing but a richly dressed woman in a black dress alight.

Probably some supermodel friend of Mary Jane's.

"I still wish I could be there," Cap said.

A small smile grace Natasha's lips. In the time that Mary Jane had started working for The Avengers, she and Steve had become good friends. He'd taught her just about everything he knew about kicking ass and taking names; she, meanwhile, had done what Natasha hadn't been able to do and gotten him to lighten up in the face of the modern world.

"Don't worry, Boy Scout," Tony said. "We're doing a service just as important as throwing rice and blowing bubbles."

"At your suggestion," Natasha said teasingly. "Iron Man's got a soft spot, huh?"

"Aw, shut it." Natasha could practically see Tony blushing. He'd never admit it to anyone unless plied with copious amounts of alcohol, but he truly did have a place in his heart for both MJ and her husband-to-be. Natasha couldn't tell if it was genuine, or born out of guilt. After all, a year and a bit ago, Tony had been responsible for turning Spider-Man over to S.H.I.E.L.D. She herself had been privy to his brief incarceration in the Triskelion. While she didn't consider herself remotely friendly with Peter Parker or his bride…well, she'd be lying if she said that patrolling the streets on their big day didn't make her feel a little bit warm around the heart area.

Besides, it was a good exercise in team-reconstruction after the spot of bother the team had gotten into involving a certain invention of Tony's.

Natasha's transmission crackled. As if via telepathy, a heavily accented voice came through the commlink. "Everything is fine by the Queensboro," Wanda said. "Vision is patrolling the exit to Connecticut."

"Right on," Tony said. "Hey, maybe after this we could—

"—go and get some shawarma," Natasha, Cap, and even Wanda, all said at once. Any other day, Natasha might have refused for the sake of her solitude. But as she continued to think about what the scene inside that little church might be, she didn't feel at all inclined to be alone today.

* * *

A sea of faces stared back at Peter. He stood before friends, co-workers and people he hadn't seen in years, his palms sweating. Beside him, Miles stood serene as Best Man. Johnny and Bobby flanked Miles, Johnny grinning at the looks he was getting from the few single women and at least one of the men assembled. Flanking the other side of the altar were Rio—MJ's Maid of Honor—Kitty Pryde, and MJ's friend Angelica Jones who, as usual, looked as if she were suffering from some mild fever.

Peter's eyes scanned the crowd. Half the staff of Horizon Labs was strewn here and there: Doctor Betty Banner, seated next to her husband Bruce; Darcy Lewis, sitting next to her boyfriend Ian, winked at Peter. Not even a wedding could have gotten Darcy into a dress—she'd decided to put on a pine-striped tuxedo and hat that made her look like a brunette Marlene Dietrich.

Robbie Robertson and his wife Gloria were seated near the front; Betty Brant and her date were both looking dreamily towards the altar. And J. Jonah Jameson himself had shown up. Peter caught his eye without really meaning to. JJ smiled—actually smiled—thus serving to reinforce Peter's belief that this whole affair might really just be some kind of mass delusion.

He looked from JJ to the front row.

The ghost of Uncle Ben could have filled an empty space next to Aunt May, reserved for Anna Watson. Peter locked eyes with the woman who'd been like a mother to him. Aunt May hadn't cried yet, and Peter knew she was just stubborn enough not to. Yet the look in her eyes spoke volumes.

And still, it felt just one person shy of perfection.

Eddie should have been here.

At first, all three had believed in Peter's hopes that Spider-Man could share The Big Apple with the being known as Venom. But Eddie, for all his control, had operated under an entirely different credo. They hadn't even fought about it, let alone broached the subject. But less than three months after Spider-Man had learned to share the streets, Eddie had left.

It would have been hell all over again if it hadn't been for Mary Jane…

Organ music started to play. Peter's heart raced beneath his ribs.

He waited, wondering if MJ would show, and then hating himself for thinking something so unfounded.

When she appeared at the end of the aisle, Peter lost sight of all else. The church disappeared; he didn't feel the presence of the pastor or any of his groomsman; he didn't see Aunt Anna arm-in-arm with MJ.

All he saw was her.

Beautiful didn't cut it; amazing didn't even come close. She was everything to him and so much more. Sometimes she felt like a force of nature: ever-present and potentially devastating but also so completely at place wherever she was. How in the world she was still with him after everything they'd been through, Peter didn't know. He only knew that he was grateful for it more than he had the capacity to even process.

He remembered the first time he'd actually set eyes on her after all those months of missing one another. Her eyes wide, her lips parted, a single cigarette dangling from one hand. Even then, on that cold December night, she'd had the power to drive his demons away, even if just for a moment. He'd forgotten about his heartache, had forgotten about his discomfort…had forgotten about Gwen Stacy.

He remembered their first kiss under the mistletoe only a few days later; then, some time after that, their first real kiss, and their first time.

He felt tears prickle behind his eyes, and for once, didn't care.

This was happening—actually happening. MJ and Aunt Anna drew near the altar. Anna gave Peter a knowing smile—a rare occurrence for her—and then quietly left MJ in his care. She sat silently next to Aunt May who, to Peter's immense relief, still hadn't started crying.

He couldn't say the same for himself.

As he took MJ's hand, he abandoned ship and lost himself in the ocean of her. She didn't need a wedding dress to make her appear stunning. Hell, she didn't even need to be—as Johnny and the general population of Instagram and YouTube were so fond of pointing out—one of the most incredibly beautiful people in the world to be wonderful in his eyes.

Someone cleared their throat. Peter looked round; the look on the pastor's face told him that he'd missed a cue somewhere.

"Your vows," the pastor said, a knowing smile on her face.

"R-right."

A few people in the audience chuckled; Mary Jane laughed, eyes bright.

Peter had dithered with what to say for months. He'd tried poems, tried going the funny route. Eventually, at the suggestion of Rio Morales, he'd decided to just go from the heart. He had no idea if the words would suffice—how could they when it came to love? Artists, musicians and poets devoted themselves to capturing love in all its majesty in their works; yet it always fell flat. But that, Peter had come to learn, was what the magic of the thing was—beyond words, beyond art…beyond comprehension.

He didn't start to cry until Mary Jane read her vows back to him. The fact that a good hundred people were watching didn't phase him in the least. MJ squeezed his hand as she spoke, and he was alarmed but also pleased to feel her own fingers shaking.

The rings followed. Aunt May had driven Mary Jane to tears months ago when she'd given her her own wedding ring—the one Uncle Ben had given the day of their marriage. The significance of the small silver band with its perfect emerald and diamonds wasn't lost on either Man or Wife during the exchange.

Then it was time for the kiss. They'd had many of those since first they'd met. This one branded something entirely different—sealing the rest of their lives together. It was their first kiss as husband and wife, and when they, at last, broke apart, Peter felt as if he could have flown to the ends of the universe, he was so happy.

Applause thundered throughout the church. People whistled and cheered; Peter held MJ to him, watching as their loved ones watched them face the future together. Aunt May had finally broken her composure, and was openly weeping against Aunt Anna.

Then all was a blur of motion. He and MJ were taken from the hall to an area backstage. Photos flashed as he stood with his wife—good God, his wife. He stood for photos with his groomsmen, and then with Aunt May. It bordered on surreal; all he wanted to do was keep Mary Jane close to him, afraid that something would come along and ruin this.

But nothing did. For once in his life, he felt as if he were finally allowed to have something—something altogether for him.

The austerity lifted as the party adjourned to the reception hall.

"We did it," MJ laughed as she sank into the seat next to him. "We actually freaking did it, tiger!"

"One for the record books." Peter laughed, and didn't at all object when MJ flung her legs over his lap. "Yikes. Are those high heels even legal?"

"If you have a concealed weapon's permit." MJ kicked off her high heels, grinning at the scandalized look on Aunt Anna's face.

Noticing someone from across the room, MJ frowned. "Hey, what's with Melisandre over there?" She nodded; Peter followed and saw a tall, middle-aged woman in a dark red dress that somehow managed to not clash at all with her bobbed red hair.

"Oh, that's Professor Grey," Kitty said casually. "She's chaperoning me and Bobby."

Peter snorted. "You're kidding me, right?" Not only were Kitty and Bobby both in their mid-twenties, but Peter knew from anecdotal evidence that Kitty—nor any woman—was not Bobby's type at all.

"Nope," Kitty said. "Not kidding."

"She here to stop you two pretending to neck or something?"

"No, she's here to make sure we don't use our powers," Kitty said.

"What?" Both Peter and MJ said at the same time.

"Hm?" Kitty smiled serenely at them both. On her other side, Bobby rolled his eyes and quickly ordered a single malt scotch.

Their meal was heavenly. JJ had insisted on footing the bill for the reception. Peter guessed that the man's involvement had something to do with him being a victim of four failed marriages. Amazingly, he still believed in matrimony for others.

They had their first dance together after that. He held her close as the crowd looked on. She smiled all the time, even when she buried her face against his chest. God, she felt so right against him; so warm and soft and so utterly her own, and yet still, surrendering. Letting herself be his, just as he would give everything to her.

"How'd this happen, huh?" Peter whispered.

"Beautiful chaos," MJ murmured.

"Whatever it was, I'm glad it did. So damn glad, baby."

"I wouldn't take back any of it. Not even—" she pressed her lips against his ear and added "—getting kidnapped by Doc Ock, running around with that alien slime, or…having to pick up your dirty laundry."

"What a nightmare your husband is, Mrs. Parker."

"But he's _my_ nightmare, Mr. Parker."

The crowd had surged in around them as the music started to play livelier. Soon their friends and co-workers engulfed them; Peter received the thump on the back that Johnny had likely been saving up for the last seven days. He managed to get the exhausted-looking Miles to join him in a highly embarrassing version of The Hustle, and then foisted him off, red faced, to a laughing Mary Jane.

Strong, slender arms turned Peter around from the sight of his wife and Best Man dancing with Rio and Ben Grimm.

Aunt May beamed. "Oh sweetheart," she sighed. Peter hugged her tight as he could without exerting too much strength. "Uncle Ben would be so proud."

"I feel him here," Peter said as he led Aunt May in a dance. "Is that weird?"

"Not at all. Although he'd have had a problem with how upper class it all is." Aunt May eyed the triple chocolate fondue fountain and fruit display as if it had offended her. "We got married in a place about three-quarters the size of this, and all we did for dinner was go to an In-and-Out."

"That would have been just fine for me," Peter said. "Well except…" But Peter stopped himself from mentioning Eddie's absence. This was neither the time, nor the place.

Aunt May gave him a knowing look. "Don't worry, Peter. We still haven't gotten to all the gifts yet."

* * *

MJ couldn't have felt happier if she tried. And after their meal and nearly thirty minutes of dancing, she also couldn't have needed air more. Fanning her hand by her face, she slipped away from J. Jonah Jameson and hurried towards the nearest exit.

After the heat and noise of the reception hall, the cool autumnal air was better than anything offered up at a spa.

Married!

Mary Jane looked at the ring on her finger. She felt breathless at the very idea of it. Rio had teased her mercilessly after the engagement had been announced. After all, there was no bigger a disbeliever in matrimony than Mary Jane Watson. Yet that had been…not exactly before Peter had come along, but before MJ had really understood why it was that someone would want to bind themselves to another person for the rest of their lives.

And yet, despite her happiness, she couldn't help but let a small inkling of doubt leave a mark on the map of her thoughts. Suppose it wasn't forever? Suppose Spider-Man got in the way of things? Suppose—

 _Nonsense_ , said a voice in her head, so abrupt and loud and so unlike her own that Mary Jane started, sure that someone had spoken aloud. She stared around the little back garden of the church. To her surprise, she wasn't alone. The woman in red—the one Kitty had said was Professor Grey—stood near a potted olive tree.

She smiled warmly at MJ.

"Hello Miss Wats—or, I suppose it's Mrs. Parker, now."

"Uh—yes. It is." Though Professor Grey seemed perfectly friendly, she had an unmistakable air of respect about her—something MJ had encountered only in the likes of Natasha Romanov.

Professor Grey strode towards her. "I'm sorry for sneaking onto the guest list. But Kitty and Bobby have a habit of drawing attention to themselves in public settings."

"I can't argue with you there." MJ and Kitty had been friends for some time; and while she didn't know Bobby Drake quite as well, she couldn't deny that odd things tended to happen around the two of them. "How did you get an invitation anyway? I've had so many of my subscribers try."

"I'm told I can be quite persuasive," Professor Grey said. "And while I've got you here, I wanted to say thank you."

MJ blinked. "For what?"

"Keeping an eye on Kitty. And I should pass my thanks onto your husband for being such a good friend to Bobby, too. Saying they haven't had an easy time of things would be an understatement."

Mary Jane could well believe that. Still, it wasn't as though either of them went around starting house fires or anything.

Professor Grey sighed. "I suppose I should get back."

"Right. There's supposed to be a bouquet throwing later."

Professor Grey laughed. "Oh, hell no. I've been married for almost twenty years, give or take a few." A softness overcame her. "Scott's the most wonderful man…but I guess everyone thinks that about their partners, don't they?"

"Yeah." MJ's gaze strayed to a dust of dark purple dahlia flowers. Once again doubt crept into the stronghold of her mind. She loved Peter more than she'd ever thought she could love somebody. But after everything they'd been through as an unmarried couple, would anything further make a difference now that they were married?

"It's not a magic fix," Professor Grey said.

MJ blinked. "Geez. Read my mind much?"

Professor Grey only laughed again. "That's for me to know and you to never find out. And likes I said, it's not going to be this big Band-Aid. In fact, a whole bunch of new problems are going to crop up." Her gaze grew dreamy and faraway, and MJ wondered if the woman had forgotten she wasn't alone in the courtyard. "But there's times when you'll look at him after it feels like the world is falling down, and you'll just know: it's not as bad because he's there."

MJ smiled. She hadn't had anyone say anything like that to her. Aunt Anna had never been married, and never would if she could help it. As for her own parents, there's had been more a master-slave relationship than anything involving matrimony.

"I'll see you inside," Professor Grey said. "And Mary Jane? If you ever need help with anything at all, just give me a thought. I'm more connected then you think." Leaving MJ feeling content but also very bemused, she wandered back into the hall. MJ waited for several minutes more, watching the clouds turn hazy gold in the New York City sky.

Then she too returned to the wedding reception.

* * *

Procession continued. They cut the cake, and drove their guests to laughter when MJ smushed Peter's piece against his lips. Johnny Storm gave a speech that nearly made Peter break out in sweat from how borderline inappropriate it was. Rio spoke, breaking down several times which, in turn, made MJ start to tear up for the umpteenth time that day.

A strange electricity of anticipation hovered in the hall. It was almost time for them to leave for their honeymoon. Once away from the crowd, Peter knew the realization would sink in altogether differently. It was, after all, one thing to be the husband of a new wife in front of an audience; it was quite entirely something else to be alone with her and know that they'd made this kind of commitment.

MJ hurried to the front of a small platoon of gathered women. Peter watched from the sidelines, jostled between JJ, Bobby and Johnny. Miles had finally fallen asleep in his seat some time during the wedding games; Rio and Reed Richards had thoughtfully carried him to a spare room to get some peace and quiet.

Mary Jane made a false start to toss her bouquet. She stuck her tongue out at the disappointed "aww" from the clustered women. Then she tossed the floral arrangement and turned around.

Peter felt his stomach jolt. In parting to dive for the bouquet, several of the ensemble had revealed a figure standing in their midst. She must have been skirting attention for quite some time, because Peter would have noticed her in a crowd regardless of her snow-white hair.

Felicia Hardy wasn't even trying to catch the bouquet. So naturally it had to land in her clasped hands.

She cast the flowers one swift glance, as if a frog had leapt into her clutches. With a muttered "ew" she tossed the bouquet into the observing women. A scuffle quickly broke out, and Felicia, lifting the hem of her midnight-black dress, quickly got out of harm's way.

Peter glanced at MJ. She'd noticed Felicia too, and her eyes and gone wide. Nonetheless, she stepped down from the platform at the front of the reception hall.

"Hope you don't mind me crashing," Felicia said. She still looked as dangerously enticing as ever. "I promise I'm only going to try and make a go at one of the men…and maybe that feisty redhead with the glasses over there."

"What are you doing here?" Peter couldn't help but ask, even as he gave Felicia a hug. The last time he'd seen her, she'd allowed a piece of tormented symbiotie to overtake her entirely. It had been in the wake of Harry Osborn's death at the hands of Carnage, so Peter couldn't blame her even if he tried. But the difference between then and now was startling.

"Did I not just say I was wedding crashing?" Felicia turned to Mary Jane. She smiled warmly, and then started when MJ went for a hug as well. "Aw, she likes me," Felicia purred as she returned the embrace. "And she's glowing, too. God, the two of you are freaking adorable."

"It would have been nice if you'd RSVP'd," MJ said with a laugh.

"Cats do what they want, not what they're told. Besides, it would have ruined the surprise to the real surprise."

Peter and MJ glanced each other, confused. At that moment, Aunt May sidled up. She took sight of the newcomer and hurried towards the three of them.

"Ah, good. Felicia, I was starting to worry that you might have mixed up the dates."

"Never in a million years, Aunt May."

Peter blinked. "You two know each other?"

"We might have communicated on Facebook," Aunt May said. She smiled mysteriously at Peter and MJ. "Hurry up and say your goodbyes. We need to get you two up to the roof before the landing permit expires."

"The roof?" MJ asked.

"That's where the surprise is," Felicia added.

So, with little choice and much bemusement, Peter and Mary Jane made the rounds and said farewell. Then they followed Aunt May and Felicia up the stairs and towards roof access.

"I hope it's not another electric mixer," MJ said as Felicia pushed the door to the roof open. "I thought not having a gift registry was kind of a courtesy."

"Well, maybe we can sell the others online," Peter said. "Or you could start a new YouTube series: _In the Kitchen with the Scarlet Witch_."

"Wanda wouldn't…" But whatever Wanda wouldn't do was anyone's guess. Mary Jane's voice trailed into nothing. At first, Peter thought that it was because she, like him, had seen the black helicopter waiting on the landing pad.

Then he saw him.

The figure stood with his back to Peter and the others, but there was no mistaking that shaggy blonde hair, or the Olympian body stretching a tailored tuxedo.

Eddie Brock turned around to face Peter and MJ. The sun had started to set, and the ruddy glow of it in the autumn sky made him look border-line mythical.

Peter felt as if he'd been slugged in the gut.

He crossed the space between himself and Eddie and threw his arms around the bigger man's neck. Eddie hadn't prepared for the full brunt of Peter's embrace. He half-staggered backwards, lifting Peter off of his feet in an effort to maintain his balance.

"Hey, tiger." That laugh—god, Peter had missed that laugh. Eddie set him back down on his feet, eyes bright as starlight. "Geez, look at you." And that voice, with its gentle Brooklyn accent. He smoothed a crease in the front of Peter's tuxedo.

"Look at _you_!" The words came out in half a sob. "Way to not make an entrance, you big lug."

"I didn't want to distract anyone," Eddie said. "Today wasn't about anyone but…" He glanced over Peter's shoulder, and then stepped around him. His eyes had gone wide, and his lips had parted as if spying a vision from heaven.

Mary Jane hadn't moved. She'd gone a little pale at the sight of Eddie, but Peter judged her hesitancy to be more genuine shock than anger. Neither of them had been able to hold onto any grudges when it came to Eddie, because how in the hell could they?

Aunt May and Felicia respectfully moved back several paces.

Eddie stared at MJ as if she were a goddess. Of course, their history went back further than MJ's and Peter's did. Peter watched his best friend and his wife, feeling as if he were seeing something beyond himself.

Eddie brushed the side of MJ's face, his lips still parted.

Finally, he managed to say, "You look beautiful."

Then Mary Jane was hugging him like a life raft.

"What took you so long?" MJ choked out. They broke apart, and Mary Jane wiped at her eyes. "And holy crap, if I cry more today, my eyes are going to burn out of my skull."

"Don't do that. You'll miss all the sights," Felicia said.

"Sights?" Peter repeated. "What's going on?"

Aunt May sighed, as if Peter were being obtuse on purpose. "You're going on your honeymoon now. That's generally what happens after a wedding."

Eddie smiled at Peter and MJ. "I'm going to fly you two kids to Hudson Valley."

"That was my gift," Aunt May added. "I got in touch with Felicia a few months ago and we planned the whole thing."

"Pretty sneaky, huh?" Felicia smirked. "And you wouldn't believe how much I had to bend this one's arm to get him to come 'round."

"Oh, shut up," Eddie muttered. He motioned to the waiting helicopter. "Shall we? And don't look so nervous—I'm certified to fly one of these things thanks to Leasey—Felicia, I mean."

As if the day couldn't have gotten any better. Mary Jane said good-bye to Aunt May and Felicia, hugging them so tightly that Peter feared she'd choke one of them. Then she climbed into the helicopter.

Peter kissed Aunt May's cheek. "I don't know how I'm going to thank you for this," he said.

"You don't have to, sweetheart. That's why it's a gift."

Peter turned to Felicia. She backed away. "If you kiss me," she said, "I will scratch you in a place that will be very inconvenient for your wedding night."

"Will a hug be okay?"

"I suppose I can but try."

Peter embraced Felicia. She tilted her mouth to his ear and whispered, "He's all yours now, big boy. Well…both of yours."

On that enigmatic note, Felicia all but pushed Peter towards the chopper, towards Eddie, and towards his wife.

 **A/N: Please forgive how saccharine this chapter is. I wanted to get the wedding done and dusted.**

 **Anyway, this story won't be as long as the other two. I'm hoping it won't be anywhere near as intense as The Insidious Six, either.**

 **Also, some of you will be happy to know that I finally got over my prejudice and watched Spider-Man: Homecoming and I...liked it a lot. Tom Holland is a precious little baby, and I'm highly traumatized by Infinity War. Honestly, I like the two versions of Spidey pretty much equally, but for different reasons, so there's that…**

 **Thanks for all the follows and reviews so far!**


	3. Cat's Eye

Felicia waited a long time after the chopper became nothing more than a dot against the skyline. Even with the crispy air of autumn piercing her skin, she didn't much feel like moving.

It was a stupid notion, this idea that keeping her eye on those that she loved would prevent all and any harm from coming their way. But she couldn't help it. She'd been witness to the cruel whims of Fate one time too many to trust it to behave itself. What did Fate care that Peter and Mary Jane were finally married? What did it care that Eddie had finally choked down on his pride and come back to them?

Not for the first time in her life, Felicia wanted to claw out the eyes of this thing called life. She loathed how cruel it could be on top of the cradle-to-grave struggle. Since Eddie had come into her life all those months ago—or rather, since _she_ had come into Eddie's life—she'd hated the whims of Fate even more.

"Felicia?"

Turning, she found Aunt May doing her best not to show that the chill had gotten to her. Aunt May was famous for things like that, at least as far as Felicia knew from their correspondences and Eddie's memories of her.

So much strength in such a deceptively bird-like body.

Felicia had never known her mother. Alice Hardy's death had been the thing that pushed Frank Hardy to a life of crime, which was poetic in the eyes of the public and cliché in the eyes of Frank's only child. Aunt May, though, possessed a knack for making people feel like she was their mother no matter where they had come from or what they'd done.

It broke Felicia's heart.

"Sorry, Aunt May," Felicia said. "Just seeing them off. Sentimental, huh?"

"Only as sentimental as I am." Aunt May threaded her arm through Felicia's; and Felicia could have cried at the feeling of it. "Good thing Anna gave me this waterproof stuff for my eyelashes. I'd look like the Wicked Witch of the West was melting otherwise."

"More like Glinda the Good," Felicia said. They started down the stairs back towards the church. Felicia did everything to suppress be urge to run back up and stare out over the horizon. There was very slim chance she'd see the chopper; there was even less chance that the Parkers and Eddie would turn around.

Eddie had been crawling out of skin both human and alien for the occasion of the wedding. Felicia found it a plethora of things: annoying to be sure, at least only after it had been frustrating. And then, the closer the wedding had gotten, the more adorable she'd found Eddie's bright-eyed excitement.

He'd loved both Mary Jane and Peter. Anyone with rudimentary senses could have seen that. His self-imposed exile had shocked Felicia when she'd found out about it. Of course, it had taken a few headlines of people saying a brute with black skin and white eyes had murdered the people trying to murder them for Felicia to get a scope on his whereabouts. But again, it hadn't taken a great deal of imagination to put two and two together. She'd caught up to Venom in the Deep South, where he'd gone to town and then some on a rally of skinheads.

For months and months they'd hit the road, righting wrongs and forming a bond that could have made for one hell of a television series. But always present had been the ghost of Peter Parker and Mary Jane Watson.

Hell, Felicia had felt that the second she'd met Eddie the first time around. He'd saved her life and soul when she'd lost the little bit of everything she'd once had. Eddie, Peter and MJ were a thing that defied some kind of inexplicable law.

"Felicia, are you alright?"

Felicia shook herself and looked around. She and Aunt May had reached the bottom of the stairs. Beyond the door, sounds of the wrapping up wedding party could be heard—a subtle sonata to send off the grand symphony of love that had once swelled within.

"Sorry," Felicia said. "Just curled up around my own thoughts."

"Well uncurl yourself. Do you need a place to stay?"

"That's sweet, Aunt May, but I've got a grand old suite at the Baccarat and I want to take advantage of the spa."

Aunt May arched her eyebrows. "That's quite a luxury."

"I'm a creature of comfort. The Baccarat is nice and all, but it'd be nicer if I had company." She laughed. "At least your son and new daughter-in-law will have each other to keep warm at their rustic slice of upstate New York heaven."

"Yes. And that failing, Eddie will keep them both warm, I've no doubt."

It amazed Felicia that the weary old universe still found new and exciting ways of surprising her. She stared at Aunt May, her lips parted. Aunt May smiled in a way that made it quite easy for Felicia to imagine her as the leader of some Pink Lady-like gang.

"I'm not blind," Aunt May said as she readjusted the gossamer shawl around her shoulders.

"Are you...I mean, do you—

"If it makes them happy? Of course not. I'm no prude. Did you know I went to Woodstock, Felicia. Some of the things I got up to…there was this one traveling folk band—

Aunt May would have gone on. Felicia knew that she would have. They had a repartee that was more like two sisters than anything else. But just before Felicia could find herself truly victimized by a bout of too much information, the door opened.

Rio Morales looked ready to call it a day, week and month. "Miles is just in the bathroom, Aunt May." She stooped at the sight of Felicia. "Oh. Hello. Sorry, I didn't—

"No need," Felicia said breezily. Perhaps, were her energy not otherwise involved, she could manage to convince MJ's Maid of Honor to make her lonely stay at the Baccarat somewhat less lonely. Indeed, Rio raked Felicia with an interested look, although that was likely more due to the fact that the dress she wore was somewhat less modest than those of the other female guests.

"Right," Rio said, as if recollecting herself. "Anyway, Aunt May, I've got the car running. It's colder than a witch's you know what out there right now thanks to that damn wind. Once Miles makes has the decency to leave the bathroom, we'll be ready to hit the dusty streets."

"A cozy car?" Aunt May said. "A chance to get off my feet? Sounds like paradise."

"You need a ride anywhere?" Rio asked Felicia.

"Thanks ever so, but I have a chariot waiting." A chariot in the form of a rented Rolls Royce parked just around the corner in the safest parking garage this side of Fifth Avenue.

Rio nodded. "Well then. It was good to meet you, mysterious stranger. Love the hair by the way."

"Thanks. Glad to finally make your acquaintance. I've heard nothing but the most stellar things from MJ."

"I wish I could say the same, but right back at you." Rio smirked.

Aunt May gave Felicia a long, tight hug. Again, Felicia felt as if she wanted nothing more than to follow this woman wherever she went, if only she could get more embraces like this. But such wasn't the life for a wandering stray.

"Don't you dare disappear on us now," Aunt May said against Felicia's cheek. "I don't care what excuse you have; you're expected at Thanksgiving at the very least."

"Only if you've got a nice warm piece of pie for me," Felicia replied. Again, she glanced at Rio, who was doing her best to avoid watching the exchange. "When they get back from the honeymoon, tell Eddie that my door isn't open to his sorry backside anymore."

"Why would he think it was?" Aunt May let go, staring at Felicia in confusion.

Not wanting to be the emcee for discord, Felicia said, "He wouldn't. I'm just being sassy so I don't burst into tears."

"Your sass will be missed," Aunt May said. She headed towards the door, and cast Felicia one last look. "And remember—

"I know. Don't disappear."

Aunt May nodded. She and Rio both left Felicia alone in the stairway. Felicia waited until she was quite certain that the other women had left the church for good, and then she took made her exit. The main hall certainly carried the distinct air of having seen a massive wedding: empty solo cups, party decorations and balloons were strewn over a floor being dutifully cleared by the clean up detail.

Felicia kept to the side as she walked towards the front door. She'd likely never see a wedding again—least of all her own. And given that this had been Peter and MJ's, severing herself from it proved to be harder than she'd anticipated. Deep down, she knew her dallying lay more in the fact that, despite being the very definition of luxe, her hotel suite would be empty when she got back—as would every hotel, motel, bed and breakfast, and base of residence she happened upon in the future.

Damn Eddie. How dare he come into her life, make an impact and then leave? Felicia had to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. Her life had fallen into a pattern of a kind: she went solo for a long time, found people, got attached to them, and then lost them again. It was perfect for a cat, but not so perfect for a human being.

As the song said, she didn't have to go home, but she couldn't stay here. It was better to face the music than ignore the orchestra.

Felicia left the church. Outside, twilight was settling over The Big Apple in a blanket of deep blue dark and orange streetlights. She supposed the chopper was already half way to the Hudson Valley by now. God—and Felicia's own vivid imagination—only knew what would happen once the newlyweds and their bodyguard were settled there.

Loneliness followed Felicia down the front steps. It had been so long since she'd lost Harry. The wounds had healed, but only thanks to one Eddie Brock, some serious denial, and a few odd affairs along the coasts. Now here she was, on her own again. There were those in her life she could turn to, yes; but it wasn't in the course of Felicia's destiny to end up with anyone. The less time she spent fighting that, the easier things were.

Just as she was about to walk away from the church for good, the memory of the wedding, and possibly the last several years of her life, she stopped. While she didn't possess the exact same senses as Spider-Man or Venom, she still had something of the feline in her makeup. As such, she had an acute notion of when something altogether unsafe was in the vicinity.

The feeling came from somewhere around the church. Felicia narrowed her eyes. Even though the wedding was long over, she still didn't care for anything—human, beast or otherwise—making any kind of ruckus on what had been a most extraordinary day.

She expected some kind of low-key criminal—maybe even an amateur alien species, or fallen god-like entity. What she didn't expect was a teenaged boy sitting on one of the stone benches nearest the rectory wing, examining something cylindrical.

Something cylindrical that had a sharp point at the end.

"Don't even think about it," Felicia said in as calm a voice as she could muster.

The kid turned, and Felicia realized without even knowing how just who it was. Something about the eyes, and the stubborn set of his mouth. There was no doubt in her mind that this was Rio's son, Miles. He still wore his tuxedo from the ceremony, only he'd pulled the bow tie out and unbuttoned his shirt to let the cool air at his skin.

One look at his stricken face confirmed Felicia's sinking suspicion. Trying not to walk too fast, she made towards the bench and took a seat next to him.

"Y'know, your mother thinks you're in the bathroom," she said as casually as she could.

Miles stared at her. He looked as if he hadn't slept in a solid two days, judging from the circles under his eyes.

"I'm not going to go on the whole anti-drug spiel," Felicia went on. "But do you really think it's going to end up any place good? I know peer pressure can be such a bitch, but there's worse things than looking like a so-called chump in front of your friends. Like, ending up homeless and filled with pock marks on your upper arm."

"I…I'm not doing drugs," Miles said hoarsely.

"No? Well then what's in that? Cherry Kool-Aid?"

Miles glanced down at the syringe. He started, as if he hadn't been aware that he'd even been holding it.

"It's…I don't know what it is." He looked to Felicia again. "I didn't see you at the ceremony."

"Ooh, we're changing the subject. I just love it when people do that unexpectedly. For the sake of my very fragile sanity, what's say we have this little chat while you're not holding the syringe of not-street drugs?"

Miles eyed her. His fingers curled around the body of the syringe. "Somebody gave this to me."

"That's even worse."

"No, you don't get it. He…he was dying and—

"Okay, strike three." So fast that Miles could barely keep track, Felicia took two fingers and jabbed at the juncture between his wrist and the beginning of his thumb joint. Miles gasped, more surprised than pained. The nerves in his fingers slackened for just a moment, allowing Felicia the window to snatch the syringe from his hand.

"Hey!" He lunged for her, but Felicia held him off with her free arm, pinning him against the wall.

"Easy, sailor," she said. "We're going to have a chat, remember? I might give this back to you if you can prove to me that it isn't going to kill you, or make you see purple elephants."

Miles glared at her for a moment. Then all the fight went out of him. He sagged against the wall of the church. Profound sadness came into his eyes—the kind of tragedy someone so young needn't be party to. Not that it surprised Felicia in the least. She knew what both he and Rio had been through when Carnage had attacked Manhattan General the previous spring.

"That's a co-operative young adult," Felicia said cheerfully. She sat back down, clutching the syringe in her hand.

"If I tell you what this is, can you do me a big favor?"

"If that favor involves busting the skull of the people responsible for it being on the street, then yes."

"Hate to burst your balloon, but no. I need you to bring it to Spider-Man."

"Spider-Man? What makes you think—

"I saw you. Years ago. When that tentacle guy was attacking _The Daily Bugle_. It was all over the news."

"Ah yes. Doc Ock. I didn't think there were any news crews at the _Bugle_ that day."

Miles chuckled dryly. "There weren't. But there were a lot of people with cellphones."

"Oh the joys of social media." Felicia turned the syringe over. The fluid inside was dark, and faintly glowing in the gathering night. It reminded her of the very shots she'd taken when Harry had turned her into this cat-like super soldier. "Okay. Why Spider-Man?"

"The person who gave it to me looked like him." Miles' voice shook. "He moved like him and had almost the same powers and…and he died." His weary eyes went bright, and Felicia felt a twinge of pity and discomfort in her stomach as she realized that the kid was going to cry.

Felicia Hardy and crying people were an oil and water combination. More than that though, the unbelievable tale Miles was telling her had stunned her to her very bones.

"It's so crazy." Miles rubbed at his eyes. "There was this big, black flying monster that attacked my cab last night. And then the other Spider-Man saved me and—and he thought I was a Spider-Man because of my cosplay. That thing…that monster just killed him…and then this other lady showed up out of nowhere…I don't know what to do. But that—" He pointed at the syringe. "That's all I have. That man died right in my arms and that's all I've got—

"Okay," Felicia said, not unkindly. Her sensitive ears had detected the sound of a car door slamming shut. No guessing who would be bursting through the front doors of the church looking for her son any moment. "Okay, so that does sound pretty insane, but I believe you." How could she not, given his visceral reaction? "But…do you know what's in this? And why this imitation Spidey gave it to you?"

"No. I just know that it was important to him. There was so much blood…"

Felicia took a deep breath. "I'll tell Spider-Man. I will. But Miles, I need to hang onto this. Just for a few days until I find out what it is."

Miles stared at her, as if she'd just admitted to cold-blooded murder. Before he could offer any protest, the strident sound of his mother calling his name intruded on the silence.

"I'll give it back," Felicia said, not knowing if she were lying through her perfectly even pearly whites. "But even if it was a gift from a dying man of the spider variety, you can't just go using it."

"I wasn't—

"You would have. Eventually. Curiosity, and all that. Take it from a cat who's been there, died many times and been brought back by dissatisfaction."

Rio rounded the corner. By the light of the nearest streetlamp, Felicia saw that she looked as furious as a thunderstorm. As discreetly as she could, Felicia slipped the syringe into her clutch.

"Miles Morales," Rio said, breathless with anger. But before she could launch into any kind of fierce, maternal tirade, Miles got to his feet, still wiping at his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Mama," he said. "I'm sorry I made you worry."

Rio blinked. Evidently she hadn't been expecting some kind of excuse or denial. Or perhaps she was just stunned that her seventeen-year old was openly crying.

Miles cast Felicia one last look—as if she were the only tether to hope that he had left. Then he hurried away, his head hung low.

"I should have sent him your way," Felicia said as she got to her feet. She didn't feel at all inclined to linger. Her mind was a veritable JiffyPop pan on a hot element. She needed to get back to the Baccarat and think, although even now she doubted she'd glean much from mulling over what Miles had told her.

"It's alright," Rio said, still mildly stunned.

Felicia hurried past her. She didn't stop once she got to the sidewalk, nor once she got to the street corner. Sheer adrenaline carried her to the parking garage. She felt as if the syringe in her clutch would burst into flames from how often she thought about it in the few moments it took to find her Rolls Royce and make it onto the main thoroughfares of New York City.

She had no idea what to do. There was no doubt that Miles had experienced everything that he said he had. In any case, all she needed to do was make a quick hack of the NYPD files, and she'd find out whatever it was that had gone on the night before. Especially if one of The Big Apple's faithful taxi drivers had been involved.

But it was so unbelievable. It also meant that some kind of trouble had just popped its ugly mug up in the city once more, and if it involved a Spider-Man of any kind, then it didn't spell anything good for Peter.

Felicia's fingers curled around her steering wheel as she pulled up to the valet in front of the Baccarat ten minutes later. She wouldn't abide anything bringing chaos to the lives of Peter Parker or his loved ones. Not when they'd all finally found a shred of happiness. Yet she couldn't just sit on this in hopes that it would go away.

Life didn't work that way.

She over-tipped the valet, and all but sprinted to the elevator. She kept her clutch close to her, as if afraid that the richly dressed drunks of Park Avenue's upper crust would be remotely interested in the contents. By the time she made it to her suite, she felt ready to crawl out of her skin. Barring that, she shrugged her dress off and plopped in front of her computer in a set of Victoria Secret that would have made Gisele Bundchen seethe with jealousy.

Her first order of business was to hack the police files; and, sure as daylight, there it was: a disturbance at some warehouse near the NYU campus. No bodies—dead or otherwise—had been found, but there had been blood at the scene, as well as a thoroughly shaken up taxi driver.

 _No bodies._

Miles had said that the other Spider-Man had been killed by some kind of flying monster. He had also said that another woman had appeared and—

"Shit!" Felicia snarled. She slammed her laptop shut, and for good measure, pushed it away from her as if it had spoken some offending insult.

This wasn't going to get her anywhere. The best shot she had for information was in the syringe still safely ensconced in her clutch; and she certainly had more than enough contacts in the science world that could figure it out for her, and then some.

But it wasn't the mysterious needle and cylinder that had her worried.

All she could think about was Peter, MJ, and Eddie. They hadn't the slightest idea that there was anything going down in New York City. Felicia honestly wished she could keep it that way. But it was better to raise the alarm then let the whole town burn to the ground, wasn't it?

With the preservation of her feline instincts, she soon came upon a third possibility. Finding surprise exits from sticky situations was something she prided herself on doing, although she doubted that was owed to her enhanced abilities, and more to being the progeny of a crook.

She didn't have to tell the Parkers or Eddie what was going on. Not just yet. But she could still see to it that they were looked after while she held down the fort here in New York City. At the very least, doing so would give her some peace of mind.

It was a long shot, but she had to take it.

Just to make absolutely certain.

Felicia grabbed her phone, and hit an oft-used contact.

Eddie had been a presence in her life for months, yes. But he hadn't been the only one—far from it, as a matter of fact. Felicia had encountered many an interesting character on her journey across the country.

It took five rings for him to pick up—not that Felicia had been expecting anything more or less.

He answered with a gruff "M'hello?"

"Hey big boy. Sounds like you just woke up." Felicia heard the distinct sound of blankets rustling. Despite her growing frustration and fear, the mental image of the man on the other end of the line sitting up in bed in his usual sleepwear of nothing but his skin and hair made Felicia feel a twinge of excitement.

"You keep talking, kitten, and I'll wake up and then some."

"Oh now stop that at once. I'm already wearing my usual nightclothes and I can tell you are too…at least I hope you are."

He chuckled, the sound putting Felicia in mind of cigars and motorcycle engines. "I am. This business calling, or pleasure?"

Felicia sighed. "I wish it was pleasure."

"Damn. Guess I better lay back down."

"Not so fast. I need some help. Well, not me, but some friends."

"Yeah? They single?"

"Careful, or I'll get jealous. And they're not. They got married today. At least two of them did."

" 'Fraid I've already been the wedge between married folks, Leash." He always called her "Leash" even though it had annoyed her…at first.

"Not that kind of help. I just need you to keep your big, beautiful eyes on them for a few days. How soon can you get to Hudson Valley?"

"Soon-ish, if I shower first."

Felicia smiled despite herself. "Well if you're a good boy, you can swing by the city after this little rendezvous. My shower's big enough for two."

"I'll be there with bells on. Where in Hudson Valley is this thruple staying?"

"Mohonk Mountain House."

"Fancy."

"They're worth it. Believe me."

"Alrighty, pussycat. I'll try to make it there by morning. There's a bar, right?"

"There is. Fully stocked, if you can believe it." Felicia took a deep breath. She didn't feel entirely calm, but this was better than doing nothing. Eyeing the clutch now, she felt somewhat less disturbed by the sense of danger thrumming from its contents.

And now she had a perfectly legitimate reason to stay in New York City.

Aunt May would be happy at the very least.

"You okay?"

"I'll get there," Felicia replied. "Especially when you get _here_." She took another calming breath. Affection was something she reserved for few people. This gentleman was one among that lucky number. "Thanks for doing this for me."

"Anytime. You know that. See you soon, baby."

"Yeah. See you soon, Logan." And with that, Felicia hung up.


	4. White Spider

There were too many things to see up high in the chopper. Below, certainly, the change from concrete jungle to rolling hills and rivers, all bathed in the dusky shadows of an autumnal night, proved breathtaking. Trees with leaves of gold and rusty red touched by darkness soon rose high into foothills as the helicopter flew closer to Hudson Valley.

But as alluring as the sights were outside, inside the chopper were two things far more beautiful to the eyes of Peter Parker. Eddie piloting the craft with easy expertise, for one. It had been a year and some change since he'd seen those gray eyes crinkle at the sides with delight; so long since he'd felt this special kind of security. They'd hugged once on the rooftop, and Peter's senses both human and spider were jonesing for another feel of those strong as titanium arms around him.

"Careful, husband of mine," MJ laughed from the seat behind Eddie. "I might have to change your nickname from 'tiger' to 'puppy.'"

Peter grinned bashfully. "Sorry, wifey."

"Sorry that you're flashing this big doggy browns at our personal Adonis, or sorry that I caught you?"

"Multiple choice," Peter remarked. "Thought I left that behind in school."

Mary Jane smirked like a cat that had just been given praise for trapping a mouse. She, of course, being the other beautiful thing to capture the eyes of her husband.

 _I get to see her every day_ , Peter thought. It made him stupidly giddy, like a child told he could ice cream for breakfast for his whole life and not get fat. _She's my wife now and I get to see her and listen to her..._

MJ poked Eddie in the back of the shoulder. "This is one of those questions that has more than one answer, though. You also hit the jackpot. Triple cherry, in fact."

Eddie grinned, still keeping his eyes on the task of not crashing the chopper. "I did? Hallelujah. I may already be a winner."

"What does that make me?" Peter asked.

"In serious danger of making this moment way too sugary sweet," Eddie replied.

Peter sighed, and leaned back in his chair. "Lucky for you two kids I've got a sweet tooth." A sweet tooth, moreover, that was just itching to sink into something soft...or perhaps something hard.

His pulse quickened as, far below, the lights of a grand resort spread open like a welcoming smile. Nestled among high hills already capped with early snow, the hotel and all its amenities glowed gold and white. Peter couldn't believe it: that after every last trial and tribulation, he had this little morsel of peace and happiness. It seemed a million years away from who he'd been when his life had irrevocably changed that day at OsCorp Laboratories. He'd gone from feeling the heightened angst of adolescence to feeling as if he could love no one else besides Gwen Stacy. She'd left him, and all he'd had left were anger and sorrow, seizing him so tightly that he thought he'd never be able to surface. And then these two beautiful, astonishing people sitting next to him had waltzed into his life with the definitive air of "Not a chance in hell, tiger." Now here he was: married to the most extraordinary woman alive, and reunited with one of the kindest, strongest men. Sometimes he felt as if he didn't deserve to be so happy.

Eddie lowered the chopper near the front of the hotel. A troop of people were signaling with lighted batons for the helicopters descent, which answered a good deal many questions Peter had had about this entire reunion.

"Leasie's got friends in high places," Eddie said above the whir of the blades. "And lucky for us we've got someone besides me to take this baby back where it belongs."

"Good. I'm not letting you out of my sight again," Peter replied. Try as he might, the memory of the day he and MJ had awoke to find Eddie up and gone skirted at the edges of his thoughts. He didn't want to think about the pain of it—the deep hurt and betrayal that had eventually settled to a bitter, aching acceptance. None of that mattered now because Eddie was back in his life, and MJ's as well, and he would stay that way.

Mary Jane squeezed his hand as the cockpit door hissed open. "Didn't expect this," she said, just loud enough for him to hear it.

"What? _The Bachelorette_ hotel and the air tour?"

"No, you comedian," she laughed. "I meant this: the you and me and Eddie making three. Sure is going to be interesting. Maybe we shouldn't have watched _Design For Living_ so often. It put ideas in our pretty little heads." She sighed, watching as Eddie ducked and hurried out of the chopper onto the cobbled drive. "Sure could turn hands if we walked down Fifth Avenue all cozy."

"I'll bust the nose of anyone who says anything about it," Peter muttered. Whether or not Mary Jane heard was anyone's guess.

It took only a matter of seconds for their things to be collected from the chopper. In the interim, Peter kept staring at the hotel, wondering just when his life had taken a turn for the upper crust. Then again, as his lovely wife had created a highly cultivated niche for herself online, the shock wasn't entirely overwhelming. Indeed, when they entered the hotel to check in, Eddie flanking them like a bodyguard, people turned and pointed.

They loved her, these fans from the other end of cyberspace. And Peter was just filled with enough of that special touch of testosterone that he felt quite smug at the fact that this incredible woman—this vision of beauty and strength and fierce generosity—was all his.

Eddie hovered behind them, towering over everyone in the building and outweighing them by sheer muscles mass. His gray eyes looked from side to side, as if he were just itching to nail someone to the wall for getting too close. If it weren't for that same small smile playing at his lips, Peter would have thought he wanted to be anywhere else in the world. Eddie, thought, had to be thinking the same thing that Peter was. After all this time away, if he didn't want to be around the two people he'd run from, then what had brought him back?

He felt MJ's hand squeeze his as they entered the elevator. Those knowing green eyes just about cut through him.

"Drop the look," she said.

"Look?"

"Yes the look. The look of uttermost chaos and despair. That look that plainly says 'everything is going swimmingly now but when, oh when, shall it all fall to itty bitty pieces in the floor.'" Mary Jane smirked. Peter deflated, looking at the shine of his dress shoes as Eddie stepped into the elevator and blocked off the entrance with the breadth of his body.

"Alright," Peter said. "You caught me. Guess you know me too well, huh?"

"I didn't just marry you for your good looks and sexual prowess."

Peter turned pink.

"Aw, look at him, Eddie. I got him all flustered."

Eddie put a steady hand in Peter's shoulder. The elevator moved up and up. Peter made himself look Eddie in the eye despite that nagging desire to keep wallowing in self-imposes pity.

"It's going to be great," Eddie said. "It's a honeymoon, tiger. No responsibilities. No work, no heroics or nutcases. Just the two of you."

" _Three_ of us," MJ corrected firmly.

"Right." Eddie grinned again, but Peter noticed a sudden flicker of pain behind his eyes. He gripped Eddie's wrist as the other pulled away. Eddie flinched, but settled into the gold comfortably enough. Not wanting MJ to suspect him of wading into unnecessary drama, Peter didn't pursue the strange distance. In any case, as the elevator drew closer to their floor, other delights began to crowd his mind again.

Eddie had it right. For the next several days he didn't have to worry about New York City. It would be perfectly safe without Spider-Man's presence, that was for sure. Not only could The Avengers hold down the fort, but so could The Fantastic Four. Peter had to smile when he thought about it. A year and some change ago and he would have deeply resented the presence of other heroes in his city. Now he thought it something of a boon. He had time for Peter Parker now, and for his wife. Still, as the doors finally opened on the fifth floor, Peter couldn't help but wonder. Not worry. He simply felt, for the first time, as if he couldn't grasp what was on the other side of this. Spider-Man had been a constant against all odds. Even the times when he hadn't wanted to wear the mantle, Peter had always felt that he'd be the hero no matter what. But now, as he stepped further and further into this new future, he couldn't see Spider-Man on the other side—not when he, Peter, had to be so much more of a human now.

 _Leave it_ , he thought determinedly. _You can think about it when you go home_. For now he had this—his beautiful bride, and his best friend.

He and MJ glanced at each other like excited school kids as Eddie led them towards their private suite. It felt like it had all those years ago—back when the very sight and thought of Mary Jane had been like a saving grace. He couldn't get enough of her and he wouldn't be able to. Not if the ensuing decades turned him old and withered. He remembered it all now: that cold December night when she'd stood unannounced on the threshold of his tattered life; of her brilliance and sadness and that fierce need to save her from it all. He remembered all those near misses, and how she'd pushed through them with a grit and a grace that was nothing short of astonishing.

Peter laced his fingers through hers. The door to their suite opened. Peter supposed it was a grand affair, especially as Felicia had likely bumped up their humble original choice for a honeymoon stay with her barely legal thread pulling. But none of that mattered.

All that mattered now was MJ.

"No big deal," MJ said in disbelief as she looked out the bay windows at the mountains beyond.

"You both deserve it," Eddie said. Their bags had already been delivered. The whole suite glowed with the mellow light of what was possibly a hundred electrical candles. "If Leasie had it her way she'd have rented out the whole damn place. But I think this is more than enough for the two of you."

" _Three_ of us." MJ once again gave Eddie a pointed glare. And once again, Eddie only smiled in response, but it didn't meet his eyes in the least.

"Okay," Peter said, needing to find something of the calm they'd all had before. "So he'll sleep on the couch if the bed's too small. At least it looks comfortable and warm." He took his wife in his arms and gently forced her to look him in the face. "There's lots of warm places around here. Warm and cozy and m—

"Woah." MJ laughed and put her fingers to his lips. "You're steering this towards a hard R-rating there."

"What did you think happens on a honeymoon?"

"Obese bus drivers threaten to send their wives right to that big glowing satellite that orbits our planet?"

"Funny." He kissed her, feeling fire ignite in his chest. "Is that where you wanna go, baby? The moon? What about the stars?"

She laughed, and slipped her hands under the shirt of his tuxedo. Visions of the next several hours shot through Peter like a meteor shower. He wanted her more than he ever had before, and had absolutely no qualms about spending this extended weekend in bed with her. With her and...

The sound of the door quietly creaking open broke both Peter and Mary Jane from their heated embrace. Turning, they saw Eddie, half his body out the door into the hallway beyond. He froze, thusly caught, and gave that ruse of a smile again.

"Uh," he said, "I was kind of hoping to make myself all scarce like way before now."

Peter and MJ stared. What the hell had gotten into him since they'd left New York City? He'd been perfectly elated at their reunion, and now it seemed as if he couldn't put space between them fast enough.

But Eddie only continued to smile without meaning it. He laughed too—not his usual devil-may-care laugh, but a forced laugh, like the canned sound on some unfunny sitcom. "Aw c'mon. You can't be serious. This is _your_ honeymoon. You're a married couple now."

"And?" MJ said. She sounded as if she were doing everything in her power to remain calm.

Again, Eddie only laughed.

"I'll see you later." He winked, as if that made the whole situation any better. Then, before either Peter or MJ could react, he slipped out the door, which locked behind him with a definitive click.

* * *

Midnight found Eddie waking from a fitful sleep. His own suite, just down the hall and around the corner from the one the Parker's had, was dark. More importantly, it was completely devoid of any other earthly presence. The loneliness stung more because he knew that it could be remedied—that he could have simply stayed in that massive, wonderful room with those two incredible people.

But he didn't deserve to. Not after what he'd done to them all those many, many months ago.

With a sigh too pathetic for his liking, Eddie kicked three thousand dollars worth of Egyptian cotton from his body as if it were old newspaper. He sat up, the climate controlled air of the hotel suite playing against his exposed body like so many invisible fingers.

He wanted to laugh, but feared that it would morph into a sob if he dared give it voice. By this point he'd thought himself inured to loneliness, but truth be told, he was still the same wreak of a creature needing others. Needing, more specifically, two others—two others who were only a scant few hundred feet away.

It had been so long since he'd been able to have a peaceful sleep in his rightful place between Peter and MJ. The embraces on the church rooftop had been so wonderful, so long overdue—like a memory of distant home. Peter had smelled so damn good, and MJ has been so soft in his arms. Why hadn't he just bitten the bullet and stayed with them tonight? They'd obviously been more than willing...

 _Because_ , said a voice in his head that sounded too much like his bastard of a dead father, _you don't deserve it._

Eddie had spent many a sleepless night fighting with that voice. Thankfully the two people he now seemed to be doing his utmost to avoid had helped nearly exorcise that particular demon. Them failing, Felicia's no-bullshit tolerance had been a perfect balm. But it still came back whenever he chose to open the door to it, like some kind of murderous vampire out of legend. If only he weren't so alone right now...

Shadows shifted on the bedspread. They rose, coalescing into a form vaguely human shaped. Two white eyes, once filled with furious poison, now regarded Eddie like a doting older brother. What passed as its arm gently wrapped around Eddie's bare shoulder.

 _Brock_? It said in his head. The symbiote could speak now. In fragments yes, but its vocabulary had changed with its overall temperament these last many months. Eddie liked to believe that it was because the being had developed after so much time being with someone who understood it. The alternative was that it was satiated by how many horrible people Venom had killed.

 _Brock_? Its black tendrils slithered around Eddie's waist. _Sad_?

Eddie sighed, and nodded.

 _Kitty_?

"No. She's not here anymore." The symbiote had liked Felicia, trusting her implicitly among all others. Eddie expected it to be furious at her absence. But he and it had learned to control their emotional impulses. The need to feed off anger floated by the symbiote's awareness like a cloud, and it simply withered against Eddie's skin.

It wasn't a pleasant feeling, not least of which because the symbiote always felt cold as snow. Eddie wanted warmth. He wanted strong, gangly limbs; he wanted fire-red hair and a feeling of utmost safety. It wasn't necessarily that he believed those lying thoughts anymore. It was just that...

"No," Eddie said aloud. The symbiote curled up and stared at him in confusion. Before Eddie could stop it, the thing sunk slightly into his skin. Every sense fell victim to the flood f memory: he saw himself confessing his loneliness to Mary Jane years before when he'd just started working at _The Bugle_ ; he heard her singing the opening night of her one and only Broadway show; he smelled Peter's skin, and felt his touch during those too few nights when they'd been buried in sheets and skin. He could taste Peter and Mary Jane on his lips, and the symbiote too absorbed it all.

 _Home_ , it said. _Go home, Brock. Brock, go home. We can go home with you_.

Without forcing the living thing to bend to his will, Eddie opened other compartments in his brain. The symbiote followed them, and soon it had covered him from head to toe in the ink of Venom. They couldn't sit here and wallow in self-pity. Just because they weren't intruding on the Parker's wedding night—which was a perfectly healthy thing to do—didn't mean that they had to castigate themselves. They could still be with Peter and Mary Jane, still laugh and love with them. Only it had to be different now because...

Venom snarled. They knew the answer lay right there, but they wouldn't dare take the bait. It would be pure and utter poison to them, an admittance of their own vulnerability. After everything they'd done—abandoning Peter and MJ, and all the people they'd killed—they didn't deserve to be anything close to vulnerable.

On feet that were shockingly silent despite their bulk, Venom stole across the floor to the window. They breathed in night air, smelling the ancient trees, the might of the mountains, and the sweetness of oncoming cold.

Venom's skin bristled.

A quick run through the dark and the wilds. Perhaps they could find a pack of wolves to race or a grizzly bear to stare down.

 _Alligator_ , the symbiote said with a fond sigh. _Brock, wrestle another alligator_.

 _There aren't any here_ , Venom replied. The symbiote let out something that might have been an indignant huff. Venom grinned and was soon running fast across the ground. Had anyone from the hotel looked out to the rolling hills, they'd have seen what looked like a piece of night racing towards the treeline. Less than a minute passed between Venom leaping from their suite and them bursting into the forest.

Long ago, they'd determined that they were meant to be together. Spider-Man hadn't been able to keep the symbiote whole. Neither had the murderous woman who'd called herself Carnage. Cletus Kasady certainly hadn't, nor had Felicia or Mary Jane. But Eddie Brock had. After years of doubt and deep self-loathing he'd found something only he could truly do. Made whole, Venom might have been content to share the city with Spider-Man and the other heroes. Within weeks, though, Eddie had realized how futile it was. Not just because the crime fighting ratio was too narrow a margin, but because New York City was too fast and big to be saved. If there was one quirk to Eddie's personality that he could admit to, it was that he needed to see results. Anyone who'd known him when he'd played college football or seen him at the gym could vouch for the fact. That need, along with the terrifying truth Venom wouldn't touch for their lives, had driven them to the fringes of the continent. There had been blood and screams, yes, but only in the name of a justice that nobody else could deliver.

When Felicia had come along, Venom had been far along enough in their symbiosis that they hadn't felt the need to push her away. In any event, Felicia had made it quite clear that they were a platonic and professional pairing.

Besides, Felicia had been otherwise involved. As Venom bounded through the dark and dense underbrush, they grinned to themselves. Others would have wanted they and Felicia to get together, but the very thought of it had driven Felicia to dry heaving. Venom was grateful for her presence. It had saved them from a precarious cliff more than once.

And it had also steered them back home.

Venom swung from an immense sycamore and landed at the edge of a valley. Snow had already fallen this high in the mountains. Around them, the wild woods lay silent and still, a bright moon illuminating the snow.

 _Beautiful, peaceful._

Venom nodded. This was what they did it for. Moments like this when the wretched, wonderful world could be calm and still; moments like when Peter and MJ looked at each other.

 _And at Brock, looking all the time, still looking_

"Enough." Venom's breath spiraled in the chilly air. They'd come out here to distract themselves, not be lectured.

 _See Brock, see Brock run_ , the symbiote said smugly. _Run, Brock, run. But Brock can't run anymore, can he?_

"I will _leave_ you out here," Venom said. Their toes curled into the snow-covered ground.

 _Forgive us for knowing us._

"Didn't we stop referring to ourselves in the third person after Fort Knox?"

 _Yes we did, my precioussss._

Venom narrowed their eyes. Without any preamble try leaped from the cliff side and landed an exhilarating second later in the valley. "I'm glad Felicia isn't here," they said. "She never should have let you watch _The Lord of the Rings_."

 _Brock._

"I'm serious. It's bad enough that I catch myself talking to you out loud in public—

 _Brock!_

"Don't interrupt."

 _Presence, Brock. Others. Shut up and listen_.

Venom stilled. Around them, the snowy valley rose like an immense globe of snow. A million different sensations and signatures sunk into their skin. All the animals hidden by instinct and foliage vibrated against Venom's body; subtle changes in atmospheric pressure sang like a series of individual symphonies. And there, blatant and distinct above all, was the presence of something singular, something that didn't feel at all of even this galaxy.

Narrowing their eyes, Venom launched themselves into the air, webbed a black line to the distant trees, and propelled themselves forward faster than could be measured. They felt the other stir, the movement of their small, lithe but powerful body making ripples in the air. Despite the beyond alien feel of it, Venom could trace something terribly familiar about his query.

 _Spider, spider, spider_

If it weren't for the fact that all these strange signatures were hitting Venom like cold pellets of rain, they'd have believed their instinct to be accurate. Faster and faster through the trees they swung. Branches snapped at the force of their passage. Beyond the darkness and greenery Venom saw their pursuit as a streak of white and silver.

 _Faster, Brock, catch it and question it_

But why? Though the signature was beyond anything Venom had felt on Earth—and they'd admittedly felt things that were distinctly otherworldly—the fleeing figure didn't feel threatening at all. Venom fathomed the possibility that they were scaring it more in tracking it. But if it was here, and reeling of all things spider, Venom couldn't rest until they'd discerned whether it meant any harm.

Especially as Peter and Mary Jane were so close at hand.

The snow disappeared the further south from the mountains they ran. Venom could sense that the flight through the hills and forests had taken them a little ways off from the resort, which was all for the better. The less people saw them, the less questions they had to answer. Now they could see the fleeing figure better. Truly they didn't appear to be anything to worry about. The person was small and whip thin. And as Venom gained ground, they saw with a shock what it was that made the figure so quick: whoever it was was firing webs from both wrists.

Thick, opalescent webs that stuck to the trees and rocks.

"Wait!" Venom called, too stunned by their realization to do anything else.

The figure leapt into the air. In a graceful arc, they landed on the clear, frozen ground several hundred yards away. Turning, they looked at Venom. Exposed by the unobstructed light of the moon, Venom could make out the stranger in full relief. If the sight of the webbing had surprised them, then the view of the mysterious figure stopped them dead in their tracks.

Venom could see now that it was a woman. She was dressed in a white and black costume that, from the foot to the neck, looked identical to Spider-Man's costume. Upwards from there, a hood covered her head, but was not so broad that it concealed the eyes of her mask.

She seemed almost as hesitantly curious of Venom as they were of her. Her head tilted to the side, as if she'd seen him before. Then she shook herself. From within a pocket of her costume she withdrew a small glowing stone. Pale golden light issued from it.

Venom braced themselves, but the white spider didn't attack. She drew an enormous circle in the air with the hand holding the stone. That was the only way Venom could describe what had happened—this stranger in a spider's clothes had cut a rent in the air. Yellow light glowed around the window. Venom had a brief glimpse of what appeared to be the top of the Brooklyn Bridge within the torn seam. Then the spider woman stepped through. The tear sealed itself behind her. She'd vanished without a trace.

A creature other than the amalgamation of Eddie Brock and errant symbiote would have fallen to pieces. Given that Venom's entire existence depended on being one part of a thing from another dimension, they weren't as disturbed as they might have been.

 _Curiouser and curiouser_ , the symbiote whispered.

Venom nodded. "And frustrating, not to mention...exhausting." This hadn't been a fight or even the longest they'd ever chased something down. But the very weight of what they'd just witnessed pressed down on them so acutely that they felt weary to the bone. They had too many questions—questions that they knew wouldn't have answers, least of all easy ones.

 _Home, home with them, Brock._

Venom sighed. The hotel gleamed in the distance like a star. Venom stole themselves to action, and bounded across the grass. Within moments they were scaling the outside wall of the resort, but not towards their own suite. They could feel the very life of Peter and Mary Jane, inviting and loving and whole—a far cry from the confusion of what they'd just witnessed outside. All they wanted now was something secure. But they couldn't bring themselves to disturb Peter and MJ. Least of all now that something else had intruded upon the relative normalcy of their honeymoon getaway.

Ignoring the nagging voice of the symbiote, Venom crawled back to the balcony of their own suite. Sunrise was still several long hours away. Despite the relative ease of the chase, they felt terribly weary. Somewhere in the back of their mind, they knew that the appearance of the mysterious woman in white was a herald of something...not terrible, but significant. After all, people suited like Spider-Man who could hop through portals in the air didn't exactly reek of a relaxing hot tub party. Tomorrow would certainly prove interesting...but only if Eddie chose to divulge what it was that he'd seen, and he wasn't so sure that he could bring himself to disturb this little pocket of wedded bliss with something so trivial.

As the sybmiote receded into his skin, Eddie felt again the pulling at his heart. He could walk down the corridor, undo the lock with his powers, and still have a night with Peter and MJ. Again, the lingering shadow of something he couldn't quite face pulled him back. Besides, he knew he'd take one look at the two of them and instantly spills his guts, and not just about the mysterious woman. About everything—why he'd left, and how sorry he was for being so royally messed up. It wasn't something he did often, because nobody had proven sufficient enough at handling all his drama. But the remarkable thing about both Peter and MJ Parker was that they didn't kind of someone's guts spilled forth. And they were both the only people Eddie trust to stuff those bloody tubes back in and stitch him up again.

 _Not yet_ , he thought as he crawled back in between the sheets. _Just wait a little longer_...He couldn't bare to be the great ruiner of things. Not when he'd already done so by leaving in the first place.

His eyelids grew heavy. Just as he was about to sink into the recesses of sleep, he felt the symbiote slither away. It took shape near the window, once again the towering, Venom-like form it assumed whenever it tried to go off leash. At first Eddie wondered if it was mad at him for not swallowing his pride and returning to the Parker's.

Then he noticed its eyes: it was staring out the window, its body tense, the whites of its eyes narrowed...as if it were keeping watch.


	5. Claws

Something was wrong. Not just in the immediate vicinity, but in the entire goddamn world. It had made Logan's hackles raise the second he'd first sensed it weeks beforehand. Had he been the kind to divulge his personal emotions to others—at least others who he didn't feel extraordinarily close to—and they'd have batted his suspicions down. That, or taken them too seriously.

As he tore down the I-84 on the back of his Indian, he allowed himself a moment to chuckle. He could just picture what someone such as, say, Kitty Pryde would say had he told her of the uncomfortable sense of hyper-alertness he'd been in since the end of August.

"Your intuition getting the best of you? Jesus, Logan. The evil-doers aren't behind every damn kitten stuck up a tree."

As Kitty had been in New York City for several days attending a good friend's wedding, Logan hadn't had the opportunity to hear anything of the kind. But he figured it wasn't too far off the mark. His friends—his chosen family, for need of an appropriate term—had been through enough. Just enough that the thought of anything more wasn't something they wanted to entertain.

How 'bout that. Mutants had the same foibles as humans. It was almost as though they weren't, despite the preaching of certain people, all that different.

The air whipped past Logan as his bike ate up the interstate. Westchester to Ulster was barely anything to sneeze at—a mere stone's throw. But he'd have done what Felicia asked of him even if the destination had been on the other side of the planet. He'd have done pretty much anything for Felicia.

Their paths had crossed when Logan had been doing his usual vagabond shit somewhere in Georgia. She'd been the opening to the typical punchline: a girl walks into a bar, and it had just happened to be the bar Logan had commiserated at that night.

Fate. That's what it had been. And it had taken Logan and Felicia only a few hours to end up back at Felicia's hotel room.

Logan grinned beneath his helmet. He loved his kitty cat. And, by some strange contrivance, she reciprocated. It had been a tricky affair, given that they didn't often occupy the same state ninety per cent of the time. Yet they'd dropped everything for each other whenever the other called. Felicia wasn't a shut book. Logan had gotten bored of the clam-tight over the years. Felicia Hardy would sooner announce her troubled past to a packed stadium than bury her less than stellar bits and pieces. Had she asked it of Logan, he'd have pulled his own guts out for her.

And, cherry on top, she was fine with the fact that he'd felt this way before. Felicia wasn't stupid romantic. She knew full well that her mutant had loved hard in the days of his long and painful past.

If all went swimmingly—which, in Logan's case things rarely ever did—then he'd find Felicia's friends perfectly copacetic, turn tail back to the Interstate, and being cozying up with her before nightfall.

The sky lightened. Even through the obstruction of his helmet, Logan could smell the oncoming day. It would be a cold one. He didn't need to look heavenwards at the sheet of grey cloud cover to determine that. Days such as this put him in mind of memories too numerous to count. Some, like the days and nights he'd spent backing down trees and burning cedar logs in his cabin in Alberta were pleasant. The endless weeks wandering the snowy wilderness without his mind or very soul were not. He itched to light a cigar, but there was no time. He'd be at the resort in a matter of minutes. There'd be time enough to calm himself down once he parked his hog.

Not all of his memories were pleasant. Some were half formed nightmares of torture and pain. Others still were of fire birds devouring planets, time gone off kilter and countless loved ones lost. But he didn't pay attention to those. They didn't serve him. After so many decades of life, he knew better than to let regret drown him. It was best to move forward, and in his case, forward meant pulling up to a vast mountain resort shortly before sunrise.

Logan stared at the hotel. It was an American's best attempt at making some kind of Victorian palace transplanted in the Catskills. Whoever Felicia's friend were, they were obviously loaded. That, or Felicia had used some crafty cat work to pay for the expense. As Logan drove closer, he felt the place growing on him just a little. It would be a great place to spend a weekend or two, especially if the dining services happened to be top notch. But first he had a job to do, and given that he didn't have the faintest idea just who Felicia's friends were, the sooner he started the better.

The young valet's eyes bugged almost out of his head when he saw Logan pull up. In these parts the sight of a man in a leather jacket, jeans, a motorcycle helmet riding a classic motorbike wasn't entirely common. Logan grinned at the kid like a werewolf about to pounce on a forest ranger.

"You got experience with a two wheeler, bub?"

"W-well y-yes I do but—

"Great. Try not to scratch her up." He handed the kid a twenty. Logan could have parked his Indian far better, but he needed a pittance of entertainment at the moment. He watched with a self-satisfied smirk as the kid led the Indian to the nearest garage as if she were made of glass. Then, drawn by the fragrant smell of buttery pancakes, crispy bacon and the first coffee of the day coming from the kitchens, he entered the hotel.

Logan was used to being turned out from far swankier establishments than this. Fortunately the kitchen was open to the public. This time of day the dining area appeared bursting with people: families preparing for an early start back to wherever they'd come from; early risers needing to get a jump on the day whether it was to enjoy the resort's amenities or patch themselves into conference calls; and, Logan's perennial favourite, couples who didn't like to sleep in. Some looked as if they'd rather not be enjoying their trip in the company of another.

All this he took in within the space of a split second. The moment he'd set foot in the cozy, many-windowed, hardwood floored dining room, his sense of smell had detected something both odd and familiar.

It was an intense smell, one that was distinctly human and masculine, but carried with it a sort of metal, oceanic tang.

No.

He couldn't possibly...not here...but of course he could. It made perfect sense. And as Logan turned to face the bar—which, in all honesty, he'd have done without smelling this particular individual—everything clicked. Of course Felicia had sent him here to look out for the other man in her life. But as Logan sidled up to the empty stool next to the Herculean form of Eddie Brock, he couldn't help but wonder why. Eddie was bonded to something that had proven capable on more than one occasion. He didn't need help, much less Logan's.

As proof of his abilities, Eddie's entire solid frame rippled beneath the dark gray sweater he wore. He turned his head a fraction to the side just as Logan took a seat next to him.

"So tell me," Logan said casually, "what exactly is a place like this doing in a guy like you?"

Eddie stared open mouthed for half a second. Never one to be outdone, however, he quickly collected his wits. "Could you have worded that any more poorly?"

"Could, if you asked nicely."

"What are you doing here?"

"What are _you_ doing here?"

Something that could have been called friendship existed between the two of them. They had Felicia as a tether of course, and thanks be to goodness for that. The handful of times they'd been in one another's company, things had gotten slightly testy, due mostly to the intense testosterone battle between the two of them. Still, there were few people in Logan's life he'd have standing next to him in a fight. Eddie Brock happened to be one of those few.

Knowing that it would be useless to keep up their inquisitorial tennis match, Eddie sucked back his orange juice, and said, "I'm trying to enjoy my honeymoon."

Logan blinked. "What."

"Well, not my honeymoon but...it's complicated, okay?" The bartender passed by at that moment. "Excuse me?" Eddie said, grabbing her attention. "Hi. Sorry. Can I also have a mug of your darkest roast for my friend here? No cream but heavy on the sugar."

"Aw, gee, you remembered." Logan chuckled. "Where was it you picked up on my preference? Duluth, right? When we were hunting down that serial killer?"

"Actually it was Falstaff. When Leasie tracked down that incel group with the unregistered rifles."

"Right, right." They were fond memories, certainly. But there was something about the pain and distance in Eddie's gaze that put Logan off. He didn't press the issue until he had a steaming mug of sweetened coffee in his hands.

"So did you wedding crash?" Logan asked. "Or is this a case of wanting what you can't have? 'Cause if it is, it don't look good on you."

" _Doesn't_ look good on me," Eddie amended. "Christ, and I'm the one with the Brooklyn accent."

"And you're the one who graduated university. Look, I'm here on Felicia's orders. It ain't to play therapist with you, either. But I can tell something's under both your skins, kid. Spill and make it easier on the both of us, or keep brooding and see how much it helps."

For a moment, Eddie looked things not lawful to be uttered. Then he deflated. It could have been due to the fact that he didn't want to cause a scene here with all these good, honest civilians. But Logan knew that, despite Eddie's particular brand of vigilante justice, he was a good egg at heart.

"It's complicated."

"Don't make me give you the lip service about me being a lot older than you. Things are allowed to be complicated."

"I just don't think it matters all that much..."

"Bullshit it doesn't matter. It's your life, Brock. Everything matters."

Eddie sighed. "I'm just kinda...caught between two people. It was a hell of a lot easier before I left New York City, but now I'm just a little..." He gestured dismissively.

A quick pang of empathy shot through Logan's heart. He knew perfectly well what it was like to be in Eddie's position. At least, he thought he did. The kid was being so damn evasive that it almost brought out Logan's claws.

"And now," Eddie went on, "now it's a lot more complicated." He finished his orange juice and looked at Logan ruefully. "I take it Leasie sent you here because of the spider woman I saw last night."

"No," Logan said bluntly. "She didn't say why she sent me. All she told me was that she was worried about some friends of hers up here. Given that she used friends in the plural, I'm guessing you ain't the only one. You want my help, with whatever has Felicia on edge, or your love life, you better tell me all you know. Else I'm going back the way I came and curling up with a nice, warm pussycat."

Eddie snorted. "Close call there, Wolvie. Almost made an R rated remark." After a moment's silence in which Logan got as much coffee into his system as he could, Eddie nodded.

"There's someone here who shouldn't be," he said. "I chased them last night." For a moment it looked as if the skin of his neck had rippled. Eddie grimaced and added, "Sorry. _We_ chased them last night."

"And they looked like a cross dressed Spider-Man?"

"Pretty much. Only thing is, she jumped through some kind of portal in the air. Just opened it and disappeared."

"I'll grant you that being freaky as the Dickens. But why does it bother you so much? There's gotta be other people dressing up in tights and pretending to be the thing that scared Little Miss Muffet. Even your ink suit looks kinda like Spider-Man."

Eddie looked as if some inward suspicion about Logan not understanding had been proven correct. "It worries me," he said. "Something with that kinda power in a Spider-Man knockoff suit just happening to be here, and especially now."

"Why?"

Logan never found out the reason why. Eddie opened his mouth to respond, but at that moment something in the mirror behind the bar caught his attention. He got to his feet as if he'd forgotten Logan sitting beside him to begin with. Logan followed Eddie as he practically dashed across the room towards a young couple who'd just entered.

Logan couldn't blame Eddie for his reaction. After all, the young woman with the luxuriant red hair and shapely body would have made him stand to attention any day of the week. But the second Logan laid eyes on the couple, he felt yet another connection link in his mind. Still sitting at the bar, he reached into his pocket for his cell phone, hit the number marked "KITTY" and waited as the dial tone rang.

After several prolonged seconds, Kitty's bleary voice sounded from the other end. Only common telephone courtesy told Logan that his old protege had answered with anything resembling "hello." She sounded as if she'd been run over by a cement truck.

"Wedding party bite you in the ass, Ariel?"

"Logan?"

"Who else?"

"M'not Ariel anymore. What's going on?"

Logan glanced back across the dining hall. Eddie and the couple were conversing like birds of a feather.

"This friend you went to see—

"She's married, Logan."

Logan rolled his eyes. "I'm off the market, kid. You know that. No, I'm just wondering what she looks like. And not," Logan hastened to add, "because I'm interested. I just need to know."

Kitty sighed, evidently disgusted that she couldn't sleep the remainder of her hangover off. "Let's see...MJ's got hair redder than Melisandre. She looks like she stepped down from a pedestal and didn't care where she landed. Body like the Indy-500—curves, explosions, that sort of thing. Face like Bing Crosby has a voice."

"Shit."

"Wow, and here I thought I knew your type."

"I'm looking at her," Logan said. "And her husband."

"Get out of here!" Kitty sounded thoroughly intrigued. "You're—

"Hanging up now," Logan said, needing time to process. "Take care, Kitty." With that, Logan did, in fact, hang up. His coffee had gone lukewarm, but that was fine. He no longer felt like drinking it. He's lived long enough that he knew better than to deny so many coincidences in one setting. Felicia had sent him here to keep an eye on three people; one of those people happened to be Eddie Brock; Eddie was one third of some quasi-threeway newlywed couple; and now a stranger had shown up at the same time that Felicia had sensed some sort of danger in the air.

"Hey darlin'" Logan said as the bartender passed by again. He pushed his mug towards her. "Would you be kind enough to top me up? And add a ton of Baileys if you've got any." He hated being so forward, but he did his best to offer a friendly grin. The woman nodded, and in a split second, Logan was nursing a stiff Irish coffee.

Eddie, MJ, and her new husband, had all taken seats at the other end of the dining hall. Logan watched them over the brim of his drink, mouth thinned. MJ, befitting any new bride worth her salt, was practically curled up against her groom. The more petulant part of Logan's mind wondered just how such a scrawny guy could have ended up with such a bombshell. But he knew better than to entertain such thoughts. The guy with the brown hair and kind face definitely made MJ smile a lot. But he also made Eddie smile. In fact, Eddie's entire face looked sunnier than a spring meadow.

It didn't take Logan much thought to put two and two together. Eddie loved both these people. No wonder he was so freaked out over the recent goings on.

Logan thought about Felicia; about her wildfire humor and her capacious appetite for life. He thought about the warmth of her body, and the smell of her skin. Cursing, he wiped his lips on the back of his hand. He wouldn't be seeing Felicia for a while. She'd want him to stay, at least until all this started adding up.

Besides, Logan had to admit; there was something about the cozy little threesome that made the prospect of being bodyguard seem a little less onerous.

Rather than drawing Eddie's attention, Logan finished his coffee and made a hasty exit from the dining hall. He made a beeline for registration, and found a vacant suite on the cheap. He'd be here, what? Four days tops? Most honeymoon's didn't last that long. Then he could go back to his life; then he could see and be with Felicia again.

All things difficult were wound up in a person's capacity for patience. Logan, having lived considerably longer than the average mutant, had a tremendous tolerance for patience. However, given that something lay at the end of his stay at the resort, he was gnashing his teeth to leave by the end of his first day playing bodyguard. Being surrounded on all sides by happy couples didn't exactly help matters.

His only option to pass time was to linger like a raven, watching from a safe distance over his impromptu charges. He did his best to blend into the background, hesitant to draw attention to himself. Doing so would only make them wonder, and as Eddie had made it quite clear that his newlywed loves weren't to know a lick about anything at all being amiss, Logan had to do that which was almost as irritating as battling Skrull—keep silent.

If it weren't for Eddie's assertions and the strange, persistent feeling of dread in the frosty air, Logan would have called the entire thing a bust. But whenever Eddie would catch his eye from a distance, Logan's gut would send a loud and clear signal. And just because there wasn't smoke yet didn't mean that some kind of fire wasn't burning underground.

He found the dynamic between the threesome fascinating. It distracted him more often than not, and made him wonder what might have been had he been a bit more open minded towards the big relationship in his long-lived life. The man with the expressive brown eyes—Peter, as Logan later learned he was called—seemed to be the ego of the trio. He thought a lot, but not to the point of detachment. On the contrary, his contemplative looks at the two people in his life seemed to be filled with a sort of romantic analysis that put Logan in mind of a wise monkey, one that learned and learned a lot.

It didn't take a great deal of genius to see where Eddie fit into the whole principle. He was boisterous as ever, expressive as a rampaging lion, and all about the pleasures in life. But it was the redhead—MJ—who held the other two together like industrial adhesive. Logan felt more intrigued by her than the others, and not just due to how absolutely stunning she was. He wasn't the only one either; any space occupied by MJ seemed to grow more interesting by sheer virtue of her presence.

When Logan realized that he'd gotten to the point of thinking in the Freudian about complete strangers, he knew he was more bored than he'd thought. He tried calling Felicia, but their conversations were brief—mostly intel on what was going on at the resort and in New York City. Unfortunately all Logan got from her end was that she was still waiting for something.

"I don't know anymore than you do right now, wolvie," she said on the third morning of Logan's stay. "Let's just say that no news is good news and leave it at that."

"Don't like leaving things," Logan grumbled.

"I know. But patience is a virtue or something like that."

"What is patience, anyway?"

"Waiting."

"Goddamn it."

"I know. But it's almost the end of their little honeymoon. And if nothing pokes its ugly head up, then you can come running to me."

Logan sighed. He thought about telling Felicia about the strange spider woman Eddie had seen. But that would count as divulging a valuable piece of information, and as ambivalent as he was about his friendship with Eddie, the old soldier in him wouldn't dare betray a fellow brother in arms.

"Just make sure you're staying put," Logan said. "Wouldn't wanna chase you."

"But that's half the fun."

"Not when you're going out of your nut with boredom."

They said goodbye as they always did; and Logan spent the night alone again. He woke on the third day to find that a thin cascade of snow was falling over the resort. Whether it was due to irritation at the continued nothingness happening, the fact that he was waking up stark naked alone for the umpteenth time, or the fact that his instincts were pricking worse than ever, Logan couldn't say. All he knew as he stared at the otherwise pastoral scene was that he was itching to unsheathe his claws. His knuckles cracked, and an interminable tic worked in his jaw.

If only he could go and chase down the wildlife...but the grounds around be resort were protected, and he didn't want to draw attention to himself.

Once more he showered and dressed for another day of routine recon work. The only shining star in the void was that he could help himself to the dining hall. Of all the coffee he'd had over his lifetime, the one they brewed here ranked in his top five, right alongside the one Tim Hortons in Northern British Columbia, and the coffee house in Belgium.

He found the dining hall virtually empty save for at least a dozen early risers. He guessed that most people had taken a look at the early snowfall and decided to sleep in. He took his usual seat at the bar, asked for a large coffee as usual, and waited for what would possibly be the most tedious day of his stay so far.

Not ten minutes later someone slid into the seat next to his. Logan caught a flash of red hair and smelled something flowery that made his blood race.

A voice, raspy and Lauren Bacall low, dripped with sarcasm as the woman said, "Getting a headstart on your stakeout, scruffy?"

Logan faced her, and found himself looking into eyes as stormy green as a category five hurricane. If looks could kill he'd be dead five times over, but he still couldn't deny the odd pull of MJ's furious gaze. God, but her husband and Eddie must have cowed under that look a hundred times.

"I'm sorry?"

"Oh, he's playing dumb," MJ said to the mostly empty hall. "Let's cut the bullshit, shall we? I want to know why you've been stalking me and my husband."

Logan's lips parted in honest shock.

MJ smirked. "That's right. Pretty lady has a brain. She's also got eyes in the back of her head and expert training from The Avengers in how to keep your wits about you." Her voice lowered to a rattlesnake whisper as she added, "She also knows how to kill a man with her bare hands, so you better start singing, or you'll be playing the voyeurism card from Hell."

She had balls. It would have turned Logan on if he hadn't been crazy about Felicia. He grinned and took a sip of coffee.

"Okay," he said, "okay. You caught me with my pants down, so to speak."

"And I'm not impressed by what I see." The bartender came over, but MJ shook her head, still staring with murderous intent at Logan.

"Damn. You're sure as hell are giving Catherine Tramell a run for her money with that expression."

"Give me an ice pick and I'll show you how much of a femme fatale I can be." Her voice shook. Not only was she furious, but she reeked of fear. Not for herself, but for her men. Logan had no doubt that she'd rip his head off if he didn't spill the beans. He glanced around the dining hall just to make sure that Eddie wasn't lurking in a corner somewhere.

"All right," he said. "All right. The jig's up. I'm here on Felicia Hardy's behalf."

Recognition flashed in MJ's eyes. Her rage stymied for a moment. Then the mask of defense slipped over her face once more. "How do you know Felicia?"

"We're romantically entangled," Logan said. Now it was his turn to lace his words with deadly sarcasm. If only they'd had this conversation days ago when his patience hadn't been so razor thin. "You think I'm enjoying this? It's hella screwed up, spying on newlyweds as they hot tub and ski and canoodle like teenagers. And it ain't fun watching Eddie get all moon eyed, either...although it explains a lot," he added to himself.

"And say I buy this," MJ went on. "Felicia wouldn't send you here to puppyguard for kicks...although maybe she would. The woman's got some kink in her machinery."

Logan grinned. "You've got no idea."

Somehow the entendre broke a bit of MJ's armor. The anger and suspicion wafting from her simmered down considerably. She relaxed in her seat, if only a little.

"Hm. So Felicia orchestrates a reunion with Eddie, then sends her scratching post over to keep an eye on the three of us...if you're not going to tell me what kind of villainous crap is dogging us, I'll just guilt trip Eddie into it then." A smile graced her lips; she flagged the bartender down and ordered a Bloody Mary.

Logan's eyebrows arched.

"It's my honeymoon," MJ reminded him.

"Not the liquor," he said. "The other bit."

"Do my powers of perception make you nervous?"

"Actually they remind me of someone."

"Not to sound like a character from RENT, but I always remind people of someone."

"For real, though." He reached into the pocket of his leather jacket and grabbed his phone. As a rule, Logan normally kept sparse mementos, but association with people like Kitty Pryde had given him a bit of a fondness for photos. He swiped through an album, until he came across a picture he'd taken of Jean and Scott. It had been at a lakeside barbecue during a rare moment of peace for the X-Men. Jean, dressed in a comfortable tank top and short denim shorts, and Scott, shirtless and chiseled as a Greek god with a rare smile, looked the perfect picture of contentment.

Logan couldn't help but grin a little. After all they'd been through, Scott and Jean had earned their happiness. It had been some time since the entity known as Dark Phoenix had taken over Jean's body—decades, in fact, but the memory burned in Logan like a hot lump of molten lead. Stepping aside for his good friend and rival had been the best choice for the three of them.

"This must be quite a looker of a lady," MJ said, "if it's distracting you so much."

"Sorry. Got lost there."

"That happens to me more than my pretty face would have you believe." MJ took a sip of her Bloody Mary.

"This is who you remind me of," Logan said, showing her the photo. "Younger, of course, but—what's wrong?"

MJ's eyes had gone wide. For a moment she stared at the picture as if it had come to life and started reciting Pi to the last decimal. Her straw slipped from her lips. She looked from the picture to Logan and back again.

"Professor Grey," she said.

Now it was Logan's turn to be rendered speechless. "How did you know that?"

"She was at my wedding...said she was chaperoning Kitty and Bobby, and that if I ever needed help I should just give her a thought..." The protective she-bear has retreated. MJ stared at Logan as if she'd been struck over the head with a mallet. "Who the hell are you?"

Logan tucked his phone away. If the plot didn't start getting more cohesive in about two sentences, he was going to go into anaphylactic shock.

"Call me Logan," he said. "I'm a real good friend of Jean's."

"Right now," he added, "I suggest we move to somewhere a little more comfortable if we're going to work through this train wreck. And right now…I could sure as hell do with a smoke."

"Right behind you," MJ said. At Logan's stunned look, she pushed her Bloody Mary from her. "Oh, I'm sorry. Were you under the impression that men were the only ones allowed to have vices?"

"Actually, I'm just a little surprised that you smoke…your teeth are so white."

"I don't usually smoke anymore. And I just had them cleaned in time for my wedding. Now make with the tobacco, because I'm about a hair away from scratching my eyes out in frustration."

And so it came to pass that Logan found himself on the veranda with MJ, listening as Logan related all that he knew and was to her. To hell with Eddie's fears that Peter and MJ's honeymoon would be ruined. Too many things were lining up, and Logan refused to believe it was just happenstance.

He relayed it all, and to MJ's credit, she didn't look at all overwhelmed.

"Your honeymoon's almost over," Logan said. "Way I see it, nothing's happened yet. Whatever Felicia's freaking out about probably isn't coming your way."

"Until we get home." MJ smiled wanly, and Logan wondered just how much messed up stuff she'd been witness to since her acquaintance with Eddie.

"New York's a big place, Red. You've got lots of people patrolling it now. Felicia for one; The Avengers, and then there's the webhead that everyone loves so much."

MJ grinned. "Spider-Man?"

"Yeah."

"What makes you think he'd keep little old me safe?"

Logan shrugged. "It's what he does."

MJ's grin widened, and she laughed—the first sign of lightness that Logan had seen of her so far. He stared, imagining why it was so easy for Eddie and Peter to be completely wrapped up in her. Really, she wasn't like Jean at all—Jean, with her seriousness and heart that bled for the world. MJ was vibrant and elusive as starlight. In another lifetime, Logan would have gladly eaten dirt for her if she'd only given the word.

"I guess I'll have to wait," she said after a moment's pause. "Christ, I hate waiting. Y'know the problem with me and being patient is that I start thinking too much. And when I think too much, I start needing to smoke."

"Amen to that."

"Don't get any ideas. I'm a happily married woman."

"I—

Logan's spine stiffened. Every last one of his senses screamed in alarm as, with all the force of a mallet to the face, he felt the tension he'd been living with since coming to these parts break. Whatever it was that was wrong, it was here—and it was here now.

Without another word to MJ, he turned around. Out there, all was white and calm on the surface. But something had disturbed the invisible—and it was almost appalling in its sheer alienness. It was all he could do to not unsheathe his claws right there in front of MJ. The skin at his knuckles rippled and burned with the threat of his lethal steel. But he held fast, gritting his teeth against the mounting dread.

"Logan?" MJ stared around. "What's wrong?"

"Get back to your room. _Now_." The words came out as a growl. He expected her to refuse—most people did when not given full disclosure. But again, MJ completely surprised Logan by getting to her feet and hurrying away. She paused once at the exit to the dining hall, and looked back at him, her expression pensive.

Logan nodded, and MJ disappeared.

Less than sixty seconds later, something big, black and fast shot towards Logan from the frozen lands beyond.


	6. Hornet's Nest

Shathra remembered when she had been something wholesome and living. It was just that she didn't find it useful to dwell in the house of a life she would never get back.

Once she had been something human. Something good. She'd been blessed with the mantle of the Spider and had fought for justice in her own world. But the gift had proven her downfall. It had drawn the attention of the Devourer; the Void. She'd shone like a beacon to him, and offended him so much that he'd done worse than annihilate her.

He'd let her live, and warped her completely. She attacked for him now, killed when he could not. She heralded his arrival on every plane, and would do so until the utter destruction of every reality.

She remembered killing the most recent spider. He had been a strong man, especially compared to whom it was she hunted now. Like all the others she and her master had feasted on, he'd had the heart and soul of a true champion despite his hard-done by life. Cleverly, he'd done his utmost to avoid her and the Devourer. Shathra didn't know how he'd slipped through the space between the Great Web. It wasn't her nature to know things anymore. All she need do was hunt and kill, and kill she had.

Her victory had been hollow when something unseen had flung her throughout space and time. How long she'd fallen she did not know. All that mattered was that she'd stopped falling and come out here, where she was meant to be.

Flying through air that would have felt frigid had Shathra been capable of experiencing sensation, she scented the latest spider. He was in the big building nestled in the valley. There was nothing about him to suggest anything extraordinary whatsoever. Shathra and the Devourer had consumed far more intriguing spiders than him—certainly more impressive specimens. Her task, though, was what it was. If she couldn't consume the spider while her master finished off the remains of the last plane he'd visited, then it would fall to the Devourer to take the spider instead. Shathra wouldn't be looked kindly upon for wasting the master's time. As it stood she was already in trouble for letting the last one cross the barrier between realities.

He would be a morsel, and that was only if he ended up in the jaws of the Devourer. To Shathra, he was another length in the endless chain of subservience.

But oh she would enjoy the kill. It was all she had left.

The grand palace of a building drew closer and closer. She could feel him in there—that totem of creation.

Then something unexpected hurtled towards her; something that pulsed with the energy of chaos and strength. To she who'd seen the scope of ever-churning creation, this thing was utterly foreign. She halted in her flight, but a moment too late. The onslaught hit her and she hurtled backwards through the air and crashed into the trees. Branches cut at her wings and thorax. It was brief pain, but pain nonetheless. Shathra righted herself, and extended her sense of smell and hearing.

Air rushed to her left. Shathra shot to the air, and whirled round. Below her a man, completely unremarkable, glared at her.

"Interferenccccce," Shathra hissed. "You don't know, little man."

"And I don't really care to, you ugly bitch."

Shathra remembered the word from her life before; how it had been used to demean and denigrate. She'd heard it many times, when she'd given chase to the Devourer's meals. It did not rancor in the least. Very little did when one was death alive.

This little man wasn't part of her master's plan. But it didn't matter. Shathra was permitted to scour the worlds she moved through provided it was in defense of herself. She'd make worse than mince meat of this insignificant stranger.

Shathra charged, her wings expanding. The man did not move until a split second before Shathra was near. He swiped his arms upwards; something's bright flashed in the winter light, and a new kind of pain erupted through Shathra's body.

She screamed, the sound horrible even to her own senses. Flame blistered throughout her body; memories flashed in her agonized mind, memories of ceaseless torture and brutal, unwilling transformation. She crashed against a tree, her body quivering with blazing pain and rage.

Through streaming eyes she saw the man below. He was covered in a black substance, and it was only as Shathra realized what he'd done that she understood it was her blood.

"Allergic to adamantium, huh?" The man presented his claws. "Guess this fight's going to be easier than I thought."

Blind rage eclipsed the pain in Shathra's body. How dare he, the insignificant little speck. How dare he open her like this, when so very few had before. How dare he bid her remember that incessant, brutal torture.

Screaming so that the branches shook, Shathra shot towards her prey. She seized him in her arms, and carried him into the air. The man made an effort to slice and stab at her with his infernal claws of stinging metal, but Shathra's anger proved superior to the fear of further hurt. She wanted him dead; she needed him dead.

Together they slammed into the side of a particularly sturdy tree. The bark buckled at the impact, but did not break. Still the man slashed, and Shathra's vision swam; but she would not break her hold. Her sternum, bulbous with the venom of her sting, jerked forwards. Shathra's lethal stinger sunk into the man's body; it was his turn to bleed now, and her turn to feel the warm rush of his blood around her.

His eyes bulged from his head; he clenched his teeth, and he stopped struggling and slashing.

"Yeeeeeesssssss," Sathra sighed, basking in the glory of his blood. "Ssssoo delightful. Sssoooo warm." Her stinger moved within him. The pathetic wretch spasmed, his body jerking against the tree. Soon he would be lifeless, just like the last spider. His pain was exquisite as it coursed around her. It was only a shame that he was so worthless in the scope of it all.

Just as Shathra thought that she had truly claimed a meal, something pierced through her back, right between her wings. Shrieking, she abandoned the man with the silver claws. He fell earthward, opened and bleeding profusely. Shathra felt herself pulled backwards and through the air like a child's plaything.

A voice, human at first, then deepening and resonating with something enraged and echoing, said, "We're going to make you regret that, you butt ugly roach."

The thing was huge, hulking and black as Shathra's own body. Piercing white eyes like her glared at her as the beast flung her from two appendages that had lengthened longer than any normal arms. Whatever it was, it breathed with an energy beyond anything Shathra had ever encountered—a fragment of sheer universe on a plane of actuality. And, its grievous wounding of her not withstanding, she was terrified of it.

A split second later the monster beast flung her—hard and far, opened and in pain.

* * *

Venom's arms retreated into their normal size as the wasp sailed into the distance. Ordinarily they would have turned tail

 _Rip the foul invader to absolute shreds is what we should do_

and attacked, but there was something far more pressing to contend with at the moment. Venom bounded across snow and between trees. The forest looked like a World War One battleground; scarlet and obsidian stained the frosted trees and pristine snow. Bits of bark, branch and twig littered the ground.

Logan lay at the base of a tree, hand at his stomach. To an optimist it would have seemed that he only had a belly ache, but Venom didn't count themselves along that set of beliefs. They'd seen the flying monstrosity impale Logan; and they could smell blood and worse all throughout the air.

Venom crouched near their comrade, their hands shaking. Gently as they could they turned him over

 _So much blood; so opened; so much pain, Brock. But he'll be okay..._

and looked into his eyes. Oh, but they'd seen Logan wounded before, and knew that it took a great deal to truly fell him. But it still didn't stop them from feeling a gut-wrenching dread. The most disturbing thing, aside from the slowly sealing hole in Logan's guts, was that he looked perfectly lucid. He'd loved decades experiencing pain and the healing of it; but just acknowledging his current state would have made his wound seem, at the very least, a normal thing.

It was a futile gesture but Venom held Logan up, cradling him. The thought of the mutant being hurt in anyway spread hot rage throughout their veins. They almost wanted to go back and rend the winged she-demon to bloody bits. But abandoning their friend was not now, nor had it ever been, an option.

"If it's not dead," Logan hissed, "I'll make it wish it was."

"Save your death wishes for the street gangs, Charles Bronson." A tendril of Venom crawled along Logan's body. It slid into the slowly knitting chasm in his abdomen.

They were, after all, an organic thing—at least in the corner of the universe that the Fantastic Four had retrieved them from. As such, they could be both a boon to anything comprised of living matter, and also a vengeful reckoning.

Venom's thread-like pieces spread, accelerating Logan's already advanced healing factor, knitting muscle and tissue back together like a textile.

Logan shuddered. He'd heal in a next to no time now. Had Venom not

 _played Florence Nightingale to the handsome wolverine with the hairy body_

"Knock it off," Eddie muttered to his symbiote.

If he hadn't acted fast, Logan could have been easy prey for the nightmare demoness.

"Thanks," Logan said as he got to his feet. The front of his shirt had been torn completely open by their tussle. Blood stained the white cloth from the abdomen down, which Venom tried quite hard not to notice. Odd how they themselves held no qualms in delivering violent payback to the evil in the world, and yet the sight of blood on someone they cared for was enough to make them nauseous.

Venom said, "Like I'd let you become Swiss cheese."

Logan looked round. His jaw tensed. Venom likewise turned, and found themselves looking at a vacant expanse of mangled trees and bloody snow. The wasp monster had vanished from sight.

But not from sense.

"Smell it?" Venom asked.

Logan nodded. "Like a landfill. Where is she?"

"It has a gender? How do we know it identifies as a she?"

"This ain't the time, bub."

Venom's senses were off the charts haywire. The slightest tremor of snow against snow hit them like the rattle of a freight train. Wherever the winged Fury was, she was somewhere close by, and she was not happy.

 _On your six, Brock._

Venom whirled around and not a moment too soon. Somehow the wasp had managed to attack from behind. Her wings sliced through the air, and she collided with Venom. Venom met the impact, had anticipated it entirely, in fact. They slid a solid fifty feet through the snow, clear from the woods and out into the open. But the wasp hadn't managed to bowl them over at all. On the contrary, Venom seized both her wrists and let the black of their symbiote cover her from fingers to shoulders.

"Let us go!" The wasp screamed as she thrashed wildly. Her arms may not have been available, but the lethal, bloody stinger at the end of her body sliced and jabbed with the ferocity of a hurricane.

"Be our guest," Venom snarled. They flung the beast from them bodily, clear across the snow and towards a trail leading to the lake. Out of the corner of their eye, they saw Logan bounding towards the righting form of their shared foe.

"Get back!" Venom hissed. "You'll end up a shish-kabob again."

"You mean you don't want to play nurse to little old me again?"

Venom smirked as they closed in on the demon. "And I thought I was the one in the purple lighting, here."

"Been around a long time, kid."

As one they launched themselves at the obsidian hornet before she could right herself. Claws slashed; Venom ripped and tore with all their strength. To her credit, the insect beast did not flee. She gave as good as she got, blinded both by her physical pain and holy rage. Needle-like hands, razor wings and a lethal sting lashed through the air like bull whips.

Venom and Wolverine did not back down, however. They were moving further towards the lake—further away from the resort, which was exactly what Venom had wanted. They couldn't risk the monster getting near innocent people—or drawing Peter's attention.

It had taken Eddie less than a second to realize that something was wrong when MJ had burst into their suite looking shaken. He'd given an excuse to Peter, let MJ work out the distraction, and gone storming from the hotel.

Now that Venom knew what they were dealing with, they weren't about to let the creature get closer to humanity.

"Rip you!" She screamed, trying to fly above them but failing due to Venom's webbing. "Tear you to shredsssss and sssssssiphon out your marrow!"

"Sweet talk," Venom said with a smirk. He wrenched his webbing sideways; the monster jerked to the left, and landed on Logan's unsheathed claws.

 _One-liners don't become you, Brock_.

"No," Eddie said as he felt the creatures claws slice through the front of his chest. "But death becomes _her_!"

"I am eternal," the creature seethed. Her stinger slashed through Venom's webbing, despite the agony she was in. "You cannot kill me."

"Wanna make a bet?" Logan swiped once more but the creature dodged. She spiraled into the air, twisting like a grotesque ballerina. The coils of Venom's webbing began to tighten.

"Damn it," Venom growled.

 _Brock, you're wasting time!_

"You'll be devoured." The beast sprang free of Venom's webbing, but only for a moment. Unlike Spider-Man, the symbiotic hybrid had a ceaseless supply of webs at their disposal. "When he comessss for you all."

"Pardon me for not shaking like a leaf." Logan said. He met Venom's gaze, and gave a curt nod. They'd done this maneuver once before; hopefully this time it would work again.

Venom webbed Logan, and then propelled him into the air. He flew, getting eye level with the wasp beast. Pivoting as he fell, he slashed her right across the eyes. She shrieked once more, and then fell earthward, body thrashing and spasming in blind rage.

Venom glanced over their shoulder. They were feet from the edge of a cliff. Down at the bottom, the frozen surface of the lake lay like a tantalizing vision of heaven on earth.

 _That'll work_ , said the symbiote.

Venom fired a thick line of webbing as vast as a tree trunk downwards. It shattered the ice with the sound of a thunder crash. Then they webbed the still blinded wasp. But she was thrashing around so aggressively that her stinger, wings and hands cut through the line.

"Going to be more difficult than we thought," Venom said.

"Not exactly," said Logan. And with that he charged the wasp once more. Before Venom could blink, both mutant and monster went over the edge. Their fall was not graceful, either. Logan continued to slash as much as he could, but it proved tricky given that both he and their enemy hit boulders and trees on the way down.

"Why does he always show off?" Venom fumed.

 _He's an X-Men, Brock. They like to make a spectacle of themselves._

Venom leapt into the air, high and far, and came to land on the rocky, ice-covered shore. A moment later, Logan and the beast thumped down to earth. The wasp twitched, injured further by her descent. Logan was covered head to toe in blood. He stood, his leg mending itself from a break that would haunt Venom's memory for a good while.

 _End this now before we get paid overtime!_

Venom webbed the wasp. The blackness of their line swam up her body, kitting together until it formed a tight net. Once more they flung her into the air, pitching her like a rock from David's sling. But this time they did not let go. This time they let her fall right through the puncture in the ice. Venom pulled their line back, then fired a web over the jagged hole.

As Venom was a part of nature, the very substance of them could mend all thing natural—and that just happened to include frozen water. Within a matter of seconds the black symbiotic substance had completely sealed what had once been a gaping chasm. The ice covering the lake was thick enough that it would take the wasp some time to break free—if the foul thing broke free at all.

Venom smirked, and looked closer at the opaque ice. "Have a nice life," they said triumphantly.

Logan, limping towards them as his leg healed, glared like a disappointed father. "Don't ever say that again."

"Why not?"

"It's beneath you."

Venom crouched own, and peered at Logan's leg. The bone had mercifully mended and reset itself.

"I'm good there, Doctor Salk," Logan said. "I take it that wasn't the spider woman you saw last night?"

"Hell no. She was a Rule 63 Spider-Man. That," Venom pointed at the lake behind them where the creature was hopefully succumbing to hypothermia, "was the nightmare love child of H.R. Giger and a Sky Dancer."

"She's going to get out of there. You know that, don't you?"

Logan and Venom looked at the surface of the lake. Anything mortal would be dead by now. Hopefully the beast would be gone long enough for Eddie and the Parker's to high tail it out of dodge.

 _She comes back again and we'll rip her buggy body in half._

Venom didn't say anything. Now that the fight was over, they had other priorities to attend—two other priorities who were hopefully not thinking too hard about why Eddie had gone running out into this weather.

They held their arm out for Logan. "Your chariot, my wolverine."

"Be still my beating heart." But Logan accepted. His only other choice was to hoof it back to the resort.

A moment later, they were off. Venom jumped and crawled up the side of the cliffs, and then swung them back to the woods. They did their best not to look at the ground below. Logan clung to their arm, his body all but soaked from head to toe in blood hues of scarlet and black.

"You're going to have to shower before you go waltzing back in there," Venom said as they touched the ground. They'd swung to a safe enough distance behind the hotel where they could still see the rear windows of the dining hall.

"Well I ain't doing it in front of you."

"Oh damn," Venom snapped their fingers. "We're just gutted to hear that. Here we've waited our whole lives for you and now you don't even want us."

Logan sighed. "I don't think I'll be marching back to the hotel anyway. Felicia's going to be on a tear when she finds out about this. Might even scratch me if I ask nicely."

"Wait til I leave, please."

Venom and Logan began to hike up the slight incline towards the hotel. Venom let their symbiote fall back below their skin. Eddie grimaced at just how cold it was even in his jeans and sweatshirt. But he was pretty sure Logan was more thoroughly miserable given the blood still wet on his own clothes.

"Whatever is going on," Eddie said, "it's way beyond my reading comprehension."

"Got any bright ideas or ancient sensei's you could ask?"

"No way. Besides I'm saving all the damns I give about this situation for after I cart Peter and MJ back to New York City."

 _Before that_ , said the symbiote, at the same time Eddie's senses went off like a starter pistol, _you've got some explaining to do._

Eddie and Logan stopped dead.

Peter stood against the perimeter of the chain link fence enclosing the hotel's tennis courts.

Eddie hopes with all his might that MJ hadn't let on that something was going down. But it was a false hope. If the look on Peter's face didn't give it away then sheer logic did. After all, MJ had burst into their suite pretending nothing was wrong. Most people would have bought it; she was just that good of an actress. But Peter and Eddie had both grown wise to the signs of Mary Jane putting on a mask. And when had she ever been able to hide the truly important stuff from either of them?

Peter unfolded his crossed arms. He fixed Eddie with a look that managed to make him feel like scolded a little kid, and said, "You're going to tell me everything that's going on _right now_. You're telling me, or MJ and I are going back to New York City. Without you."

Eddie looked wildly to Logan. Not for the first time he was grateful for the mutant's presence.

Logan ran his fingers through his untamed hair. "Alright, bub," he said, "you caught us. We'll spill. But first I'd like to get into something that looks a little less like it walked off the set of a Wes Craven movie."

"Who the hell are you and why should I do a thing you say?"

Logan arched his brows. Even Eddie, despite his trepidation and guilt, had to admit that it was an impressive thing to say.

"He's a friend of mine," Eddie said. Then, realizing his name was borderline dirt to Peter at that moment, he added, "And he's Felicia's friend, too."

"Fantastic. She's in on this as well. Maybe Aunt May knows what's going on, and I can just phone her instead of grilling you." A profound hurt brimmed in Peter's eyes, and it stung Eddie worse than his act of betrayal. "I just wanted to enjoy my goddamn honeymoon and I can't even have that."

"Look kid," Logan said.

"Kid? I'm no kid, Bloody Mary. My name is Peter."

"Peter." Logan was a mixture of irritated and impressed. It took serious cojones to back talk the Wolverine. "I get where you're coming from. But standing out here freezing our asses off ain't going to lead to answers. Besides, the nasty thing at the bottom of this ain't dead; it's on ice. Me and Eddie'll come clean, but we have to make it snappish. Get my drift?"

They didn't know each other. Peter had every right to refuse or even berate Logan.

Instead, his jaw clenched, he spun around on his heel and marched away.

He didn't look back at Eddie once.

 **A/N: Venom movie reference in this chapter. I'm at liberty to use it, seeing as how that movie-which I do love, by the way-hit so many similar beats to The Insidious Six that it made me a little paranoid.**


	7. The Thief

Felicia had kept a wide berth from the Baxter Building since the night Harry had died. In fact, she'd skipped out of New York City as fast as her paws could carry her the second the dust had settled. Yet here she was, not only back in the place that held ensnaring memories in each slab of asphalt, but approaching the very spot where her life had once more gone to Hell.

Drawing her jacket closer around her body, she gazed up and up at the facade of the Baxter Building. From the leaf-strewn street, she could just make out the stylized four hewn into the top levels of the place. It would have been ridiculous—and really, it was—if she hadn't been acquainted with the people who resided within. As it was, the Fantastic Four's choice in exterior makeover was positively fitting for their somewhat family-friendly public image. In any case, after the destruction that had been wrought during the battle with Carnage, they'd had little choice in how to better transform the once workaday building.

Thinking of the symbiotes made Felicia's hackles raise. She reached a hand into the bag over her shoulder, and grasped the syringe that she'd confiscated from Miles. She knew better than to assume it all meant nothing. The first sign of smoke was cause enough for alarm; she didn't need to wait until the reek of fire stung her nose to start reaching for the nearest bucket of water. Still, as she stole herself to enter the main floor of the Baxter Building, she couldn't help but hope that it was all going to mean nothing in the end. And if not nothing, than at least something manageable. Perhaps she and Logan could deal with it together—a nice reunion, nothing too strenuous; get the adrenaline flowing and the blood pumping in all the right places. Then they could bugger off somewhere and leave the Parker's—and Eddie if he knew what was good for him—in as much peace as could be expected for a married couple deeply entrenched in the world of super heroics.

Felicia rolled her eyes. Right. And perhaps world peace would finally be declared over the necessity to maintain the global supply of pumpkins.

The crisp, clean lobby swam before her vision as she walked towards the reception desk. She saw, for one dizzying moment, darkness and rubble; red vines strewn across the walls like exposed tendon. She heard screams and shouts and the feral hiss of something willingly twisted beyond humanity.

Felicia forced her nails into the palms of her hand. _Not today, Satan_ , she thought bitterly. They were only memories— traumatic memories, yes, but if her friends could run the tide until the ground grew firm enough to get married, she could handle a cluster of hours in the Baxter Building.

When she approached the reception desk, it was to find the man stationed there looking thoroughly bored. He had an iPad propped open in front of him, and didn't take the least notice of Felicia.

"Hi," Felicia said, as perfectly friendly as she could muster under present circumstances. "Do you accept walk-ins?"

The punk barely heard. Felicia felt an overwhelming desire to pull his man-bun out by the roots. Not because she had anything against the modern white samurai look, per se, but because the guy was being rude. Narrowing her eyes, she glanced at the screen of his iPad.

"Danaerys goes insane and destroys King's Landing," she said as delicately as she could.

The receptionist stared at her, mouth agape. Then he glared—as if she'd been the one in dereliction of duty.

"Thanks," he said huffily. "This is the only break I get—

"No, it isn't." Felicia smiled sweet as poisoned sugar. "It's four in the afternoon. Your morning shift has already gone home, which means you've been here since about twelve-thirty. You're on your first break of an eight hour shift, which means you have all the time in the world to help people with the inquiries that fall under jurisdiction of the same job that Reed Richards is likely paying you too much to do." She leaned in a little closer. "And just 'tween the two of us, the series finale is utter shit, so you're wasting your time."

The receptionist continued to glare. "Meetings with Mister Richards are by appointment only."

"Excellent. I'd like an appointment half an hour from now. Or you could press that little old button and tell him that a friend would like to pop up with some important news."

"Or," the receptionist said, "I could just not seeing as how you spoiled my show, and are a complete stranger."

Felicia's knuckles itched with a desire to sock the bastard in the jaw.

Behind her, the elevator dinged open. Footsteps crossed the marble floor, and then halted.

"Whoa," said a familiar voice, "if this isn't a pleasant surprise."

Smiling daggers at the receptionist, Felicia turned to face Johnny Storm. Judging from the muscle shirt and sweatpants, he hadn't been involved in anything more important than a long session at the Fantastic Four's on-sure gym.

"Hello, Johnny," Felicia said. "Sorry to barge in without due procedure but—

"Aw, cork it. It's good to see you. I was on my way to get some falafel if you'd like to join me."

Aware that the receptionist was watching in incredulous outrage, Felicia sighed. "That sounds really yummy but I've actually got to yak at your brother in-law. Unless that big, sexy brain of yours can provide me with the answers I need."

Johnny arched an eyebrow. He'd have blushed if he were any other man, but theirs was a perfectly platonic relationship. Their paths had crossed, quite by accident, several weeks after the infamous interdimensional travel that had imbued the Four with their present powers. Eddie had recognized them from the first attack when the stone containing the symbiotes had first been shattered with Thor's hammer. Felicia had decided to reach out, partially by using her connection with Spider-Man as a tether. She didn't consider herself best friends with any of them, but they knew each other. Sometimes that was all it took.

"I suppose my dinner could wait." Johnny gestured at the closed elevator door. "Your chariot." Noticing the still gobsmacked expression in the receptionist's face, he added, "Flash, don't you have emails to be answering right now, my man?"

"R-right. Sorry, Mister Storm."

"Mister Storm," Felicia repeated as the elevator doors closed on her on Johnny. "That's got to feel really nice."

"Lucky me, my self-esteem is enough that I could care either way." He looked Felicia up and down, and something in his jocular expression changed. Likely he'd noticed the dark circles and grim determination. "I'd say something about you and what the cat dragged in, but—

"So don't." The elevator was moving up and up—Felicia hated the fact that it would take them to the very same floor where the bulk of the fight with Carnage had taken place.

Johnny raised his hands in a gesture of peace. "Okay. Okay. I'm just a little curious. You've never made a house call before."

"I've been busy. And so have you. Has the good doctor made any house calls?"

Johnny's jaw clenched. "No. Why Reed didn't let me charbroil him is beyond me."

"Because that's not his way, hot stuff." That was more hers. And Logan's. And Eddie's.

Felicia reached into her bag, and withdrew the syringe. "This is what I'm here about."

"Drugs?"

"No. I'll explain everything when we're with your fam. But whatever it is, it's not natural. And to quote Buffy, that doesn't usually lead to hugs and puppies."

Johnny sighed. "Nothing ever does in our lives."

The doors dinged open. Ahead of them stretched a corridor surrounded for some several meters by Plexiglas. Various machines and laboratory equipment stood behind the see-through walls. Past the sample labs and equipment rooms, the bulk of the Fantastic Four's labs opened to a vast chamber.

Felicia didn't see any of it. She was aware of Johnny stepping through the doors—felt the absence of his presence. But all she saw was broken floor. Blood pooled over the concrete. Lightning flashed in the grips of a hurricane. She heard Carnage scream; saw Mary Jane in the path of death as Harry's glider went sailing through the air towards her. She saw the lethal protrusions slam into Harry's gut...

"Felicia?"

Johnny's voice snapped her back to the present. He had a hand braces against the elevator door. His eyes were rife with worry.

Felicia shook her head. This wasn't the time to drown in the past. The present was quickly spiraling out of control, and if she got lost in memories of death and destruction, she'd never be able to see to it that the here and now remained safe. She thought of Eddie; of Peter and Mary Jane. And she thought of Logan. He'd be back soon. She could lose herself in him instead of what had been.

"I'm fine," she lied, stepping from the elevator with forced pep. "Just want to get this over with." She hurried down the corridor, refusing to look left or right.

Without warning, what appeared to be a python shot in front of her, barring her way into the lab proper. Felicia started, and then glared.

"Hello, Felicia." Reed Richards blinked at her, head perched on the end of a long length of neck. "What brings you here?"

"A need for normality," she said, her heart hammering against her rib cage. "And has anyone ever told you it's extremely unsettling when you do that?"

Reed cocked his head the side. "Many times, actually."

"I tell him at least three times a day," Johnny said as he drew level. "Although I think the grandpa streaks make for better joke material."

Despite being nearly the same age as Felicia, Reed's exposure to interdimensional space had, indeed, turned him grey at the temples. Add the glasses perched on the end of his nose, and he could have passed for a man of forty.

Felicia tossed her snowy hair over her shoulder. "I like them older."

"Don't let Susan hear you say that." Reed's body quickly walked around the corner. His neck retracted, joining his shoulders the way the Lord had intended it. He, too, was dressed far too casually to be doing anything important.

"For all I know," Felicia said, "she could be standing right beside me."

"Luckily," said Sue as she walked towards them from the right-most portion of the lab, "she's not exactly the kind to turn on the vanishing act for friends. What's up, Felicia? Last time we heard anything from you, you were in New Mexico."

"I was on vacation." Felicia glanced around. "Where's the big guy?"

"Taking a nap," Johnny said. "You might hear him snoring." He nodded towards the central part of the lab. "Show them what you showed me."

Felicia took the syringe out again. "Not drugs," she said quickly. "At least not anything street."

Reed peered closer—which was to say that his head moved several inches forward like a snake's. "It looks perfectly harmless."

"Trust me," Felicia sighed. "It's anything but." She looked around the lab. The containment unit that had once stored a piece of the symbiote had been disassembled some time ago. But Felicia could remember shattering its glass, letting the black slime overtake her. She could recall with perfect ease the power of the revenge-fuelled mania that had gripped her when the thing had gorged itself on the tangle of fury, grief and bloodthirst.

 _Not now_ , she thought once more.

"It was a few days ago," she began. "Just after Peter and MJ got married..." As best she could, she related everything that Miles had told her. It wasn't the most cohesive of narratives, given that it was all secondhand. But by the time she got to the part about the imitation Spider-Man dying, Reed had already started setting up various machines and implements around the lab.

"So, it wasn't Spider-Man?" Johnny sounded graver than Felicia knew he usually cared to appear.

"No. Miles said he looked completely different. And then after the dust settled, this woman showed up, threw the flying thing into some kind of portal, and disappeared with the other Spider-Man's body."

Sue ran her fingers through her hair. "God, it could be anything. I know some mutants can create portals to disappear through...but if this other Spider-Man gave this kid that—" she gestured at the syringe still clutched in Felicia's hand— "then it almost sounds like he wasn't mutated at all, but...enhanced."

"It's not too far off," Felicia said. "That was how I became what I am now. Serums." It was lucky, then, that Miles hadn't taken the syringe to himself after all. There was no telling what kind of changes would have overtaken him. The ones Harry had given her had left her with muscles that aches to the point of tears, skin that felt as if it were on fire and little to no appetite. Only when her body had gotten used to the injections had the side effects worn off. But Miles was just a teenager. Felicia was pretty sure he wouldn't be able to handle the potency of whatever this juice was.

"We need to know what it is," Reed said. "For all anyone of us know, it could be some sort of biochemical agent."

"I doubt it," Felicia said. "But I guess you're not wrong."

Reed held a hand out. "Do you mind if I take a closer look?"

"That's what I came here for." Yet even as she held it out for Reed to take, she felt a sharp pang of misgiving. Miles had, after all, trusted her with this. Despite the Fantastic Four being allies, Felicia had no idea what they would do if they found something about the serum they didn't like. The last time they'd been entrusted with something of such importance, it had resulted in more death and chaos than anyone could have foreseen. They had enemies, too. Living enemies, who, while either incarcerated or missing and presumed dead, would just love to tunnel out of the woodwork and raise hell.

Eddie might be far afield from Spider-Man. Logan was often compared to an unpredictable, feral beast. She herself could toss aside moral scruples if the occasion called for it. But at least they never left room for any preventable damage.

Still, she had come here to find out the root source of the serum.

"Just...be careful," she said as let Reed take it from her.

Sue gave Felicia an encouraging smile. "Don't worry. Reed's brain might strike some as a scary place, but he's pretty on the money."

 _That's not what I meant_ , Felicia thought.

Because he was working with his extended set of arms, Felicia found it hard to see just what it was that Reed was doing. This way and that, small phials and tiny burners went flying. After a moment, Reed places a Petrie dish under a microscope that looked as if it had come from the set of Blade Runner. He extracted the smallest amount from the end of the syringe (Felicia sucked in a breath to stop herself from lashing out) and deposited it in the middle of the flat disc.

Reed peered into the end of the microscope. Almost immediately, he swivelled towards a nearby screen. Felicia notices several lines of text and rotating images appearing on the interface.

"No." Reed sounded incredulous—less as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing, and more as if the very idea of it was completely absurd.

"Reed's a very forthcoming person," Johnny said dryly. "Sue tells me that he's honest with his emotions when they're alone together, but I think she's pulling my leg."

"Cork it," Sue said. She, too, was looking at the screen, although the Felicia doubted that she was taking much on. The images and words were appearing and disappearing so fast that Felicia couldn't make heads or tails of them.

"Felicia," Sue said, suddenly sharp, "you said this flying thing disappeared into some kind of portal?"

"No. _I_ didn't say it. Miles did. And he also said that another woman who looked like Spider-Man opened the portals." Felicia glanced at the syringe. "What's going on?"

"There's a codifier," Reed said. "One that we were forced to come up with after we came back from the quantum gate. Our DNA had been altered in such a way that it partially doesn't resemble living atoms from anything in our known universe." He sighed. "The closest match was on the record he made of that symbiotic stone that Peter gave us. Even then, the resemblance was only in that it didn't resemble anything we know. Not the tissues of the Chitari Tony Stark collected, not Thor's Asgardisn DNA..."

Felicia's brows furrowed. "Color me lost."

"Think of it like this," said Johnny. "DNA has a certain makeup, right? We have DNA samples from a god, aliens and things that have walked through dimensional gates. Mostly they all look the same. But that rock had a DNA strand that was just too different to sit right. And when we compared our altered DNA after we came back from the gate, we saw that it had been twisted in just enough of a similar way. We were still carbon and junk—but it was like we'd been put through a pressure cooker and had our molecules changed."

"Don't you see?" Sue sounded less than thrilled. "Inter-dimensional travel, Felicia. None of what we encountered—none of what Spider-Man encountered with the symbiotes—exists in the entirety of this universe."

Shock parted Felicia's lips before she could muster words. After processing as best she could for severe prolonged seconds, she said tentatively, "If it isn't in this universe...if it's the same codifier as what you found in the quantum gate and what came out of that stone..."

Reed nodded. "It doesn't come from this reality. It came from another dimension. Which means that, for all any of us know, that Spider-Man, the flying monster and the woman this Miles kid said he saw all come from the same place."

Which, Felicia knew, meant trouble in all-caps. The symbiote has come from another dimension, and look what it had done.

"Thank you," she said, although she didn't feel remotely as if by sort of thanks was in order. "I guess I'll have to keep a lid on that juice." She held her hand out. Johnny, Reed and Sue all stared at her as if she'd just expressed a desire to convert to ritual Satanism.

"Felicia..." Johnny smiles disbelievingly. "You can't be serious..."

"This is dangerous," Sue said calmly.

"It's just a super-soldier serum," Felicia said. Why was she talking? Why not just let them keep it? "It's the same thing that made me and Captain America."

"It isn't from this reality," Reed said patiently. "There's no telling what kind of effect it could have."

"I never said I was going to use it," Felicia replied. "I just think it might be a little bit safer with those who have less of a public profile."

"We're not going to go posting it on Instagram," Johnny said. The air was starting to prickle. He was getting irritated, and could combust at a moment's notice. But Felicia didn't care. All she thought of was the blood and destruction. The Fantastic Four might have powers beyond mortal comprehension, but they'd failed once before. They still had enemies out there—enemies who could break in and do who only knew what with this serum. It would spill out into the world. People would get hurt. People would die, just like Harry.

"Where exactly do you think it would be safer?" Reed was watching her as if she were an exceptionally idiotic student. It made Felicia's skin prickle with annoyance. She might not be a quantum physicist, but she wasn't stupid.

"I don't know." She sounded pitiful and lost, and she hated it. "The X-Men..."

They weren't an entirely unknown entity to the public, but they weren't celebrities by any means. They didn't go around appearing at the Macy's Parade, or opening wings of hospitals, or posting stories on Snapchat. People wouldn't mess with them the way they'd do so with these people, who had an even higher profile than Spider-Man.

"Felicia." Sue put a comforting hand on her shoulder. "It'll be safe here. I promise. It's not like last time. We were just people back then. But we can defend ourselves now."

"Really?" Felicia's voice had risen to a desperate pitch. "Heard about Victor von Doom's latest whereabouts, Sue?" Even if he didn't steal the syringe outright...besides, she still had Miles to think of...

 _Think rationally_ , she thought. But it wouldn't come. No matter which way she turned, it seemed as if the foundations were tumbling around her.

"Enough." Reed said definitively. "Felicia, we're not giving this to you. It's now a controlled substance as far as I'm concerned. All it's going to take is a word to the government, and this thing will be under lock and key."

Felicia glared, but kept her silence. Governments? Hadn't they failed people enough in the last three years? And since when had anything like the law stopped her?

"Come on, Cat." Johnny had calmed down. "Think about Miles. He'd feel a lot better knowing this stuff was somewhere safer than in your pocket."

Because it would be with a bunch of celebrities. They were no better than The Avengers—they just had better PR.

Felicia took a breath, deep into her lungs.

"Fine," she said, nodding without knowing why—without knowing why she was letting this blind panic take her over. "I...Yes, you're right. Thank you. I should get going."

Sue squeezed her shoulder, reassuringly. But Felicia didn't want Susan Richards to give her support. She wanted Logan—Logan, who was damaged and practical despite public opinion. She wanted Eddie, with his familiar friendship. She wanted Peter and MJ—not these people she barely knew, making her feel so insignificant and stupid. It could all fall to pieces so fast, but they refused to factor that in because everything in their lives was so perfect...

On feet that felt like cement blocks, Felicia walked away from the lab. She strode by the glass casing. It hadn't been that long since she, Spider-Man, Venom, Carnage and Harry had rampaged through this place, had it? And Harry...she'd been surrounded by Eddie and Logan for so long that she'd forgotten about him until day—fractured, entitled, penance-seeking Harry...he'd died to try and keep something chaotic contained, and it would happen again, only it wouldn't be Harry this time, it would be Peter, or MJ, or Eddie or...or Logan.

The elevator doors slid open. Felicia stepped into the car and turned around. At the other end of the lab, she saw the syringe, still sitting innocently on the workbench. Reed, Sue and Johnny were all watching the interface and being fantastic as ever. And she, Felicia Hardy, the Black Cat, thief extraordinaire, fighter in high heeled boots and anti-hero for the ages, was walking away like a scolded little pussycat when chaos sat uncontrolled several hundred yards away.

 _Better the Devil you are than the one you can't keep on a leash_ , she thought.

The doors started to slide closed.

"JK," Felicia said. She held her hand, palm out and wrist up. In the blink of an eye, a flawed grappling hook shot from the concealed band around her wrist. It flew clear across the corridor; its metallic jaws closed around the shaft of the syringe. By the time Sue, Reed and Johnny were aware that it was no longer on the table, the claw was disappearing back through the elevator doors. The last thing Felicia saw as she pocketed the serum and the doors slid shut were the shocked and outraged faces of the very people she'd come here to seek advice from.

Then the car started its downward descent.

She had precious time. Shrugging her jacket to the floor the better to have her tactile gear accessible, Felicia grasped the handle of the emergency exit, hoisted herself off the ground, and kicked the trapdoor open. The elevator continued to descend steadily, but too slowly for her liking. She pressed another button on both her wristbands. Malleable black unfolded from the bands, and soon closed her hands in sleek gloves. The dark spread across in a series of clicks and hisses, until soon, her arms, legs and the parts of her body closest to her vitals were covered by a tactile upgrade to her usual costume. A sleek mask with thin, invisible lenses slid over her eyes, and she was the Black Cat once more. There were perks to being involved with an X-Men—one of those was the access to fancy technology. Claws unsheathed from each fingertip—hard and as indestructible as diamonds.

The elevator suddenly ground to a halt. Red lights flashed in the shaft. The Fantastic's had engaged the emergency break—which Felicia had anticipated. Smirking, she sliced through the cable. The wires separated as easily as if they'd even twine. Air rushed around her as she rode the car down, faster than a car going seventy. It crashed to the concrete ground. Felicia grasped the remains of the cable, the better to steady herself, and then leapt to the rubble. The doors were sealed shut, but that wasn't an issue for her—not when she was stronger than the average bear.

Felicia gripped the gap and pulled. The door ground apart with a sound like a truck skidding across concrete. She saw the open lot of the Baxter Building's basement—outfitted almost like a penthouse apartment, complete with fake windows. She'd made a fatal mistake in coming this far down.

What looked like a mountain carved of granite stood several feet from her. Judging from the swaying of a hammock some feet behind him that appeared to have been seen from bungee cables, her descent via elevator car had disturbed him from the nap Johnny had mentioned.

"Hey," Ben Grim said in his rockslide voice. "Elevator trouble?"

Her body was pounding so hard from adrenaline that she couldn't find words. The only thing that registered in her brain was that she was now beneath the very building she oughta to be running away from as fast as her feet could carry her, and here she was making small talk with The Thing.

At that moment, her senses prickled. The air in the shaft behind her had erupted in sudden heat.

"Why," Felicia groaned. Without another thought, she leapt as high and far as she could. Her boots connected with the front of Ben's body. He arched away, but Felicia was already clambering up him like a rock wall. She spring off his head, grasped a nearby light fixture and arched off it through the air. She cleared almost half the vast floor space, and came to rest on top of Ben Grim's personal bar.

"What the hell?" Ben's roar shook the walls. A moment later, a bolt of living fire shot into the basement space. "Johnny, I thought she was our friend?"

"So did I." Johnny sounded livid. He hovered off the ground, his body engulfed in fire. Even through the tongues of flame, Felicia could see his glaring eyes. A spasm of guilt made her stomach clench. They were on the same side—loved the same people, although Johnny had no idea that Peter was also Spider-Man. She knew that in this instance, to these people, she was the bad guy—duh. But she couldn't let the serum fall into the wrong hands.

"Hand it over Felicia," Johnny said. "You're outmatched."

"Got nine lives, Hothead," she taunted. "I might only lose one."

"You're being irrational."

"I love it when men tell me that." With that, Felicia kicked a bottle off the bar and across the room. Johnny reacted on instinct—had he been thinking and he might have remembered alcohol being flammable. He fired a ball of flame at the projectile. The second fire touched glass, the liquor exploded. In the glare, heat and shattering glass, Felicia ran across the bar. The stair access was still half a football field's length away, through what looked like Ben's private gym. But she could make it if only she kept moving.

 _Why_ , she thought as she ran, _why, why, why_?! Johnny fired bolt after bolt after her. Parts of Ben's suite went up in flames. An enormous bench press nearly flattened Felicia as she started away from the fiery projections.

"Johnny!" Ben roared. "Knock it off, you're trashing my place!"

"Gotta get her, numbnuts," Johnny fired back. A moment later he let out a grunt of pain. Felicia looked over her shoulder. Johnny lay sprawled on the ground. Ben had batted him aside, likely a last-ditch effort to prevent the further destruction of his hidey hole. It wasn't a victory in the least; Ben was how charging towards her, the floor shaking in a series of tremors that made Felicia's knees wobble.

With a last burst of energy, Felicia leapt through the air. She made it through the exit to the stairs just as Ben brought both fists down in the ground where'd she'd stood only a moment before. Concrete and dust choked the air, but Felicia was that much closer to freedom. She took the stairs in great, cat-like bounds, dodging vile little thoughts of self-loathing as she went. Leave it to her to get the Fantastic Four fighting each other. But she couldn't let them take the serum. If they were so keen on being up their own asses, then the loss was theirs.

The Thing was in pursuit. Felicia could feel and hear him as he tore at the stairs. Johnny wouldn't follow; there wouldn't be enough oxygen in the cramped passage to both power his flames and let them all breathe. But he still had the elevator shaft. The sooner Felicia got to the street, the better she'd be. She jumped the last few stairs, and rolled through the door, her body curled in a tight ball. She was almost there—she was going to make it. Once out among the public, she could use a rather despicable vested card to buy herself time to escape!

Her body collided with something that felt like the outside of an exercise ball. Impact send her rebounding. Blinking, Felicia stared at a solid wall of skin.

"Oh," she groaned, even as the ground below her continued to shake. "Oh gross!"

"Hand it over." Reed's voice sounded from somewhere above, like the holy judgment of God. Felicia didn't even want to think about where his head was, or which part of his body she'd collided with. She couldn't really think of anything, other than the fact that, with Ben charging like a boulder towards her, she was caught between a rock and a flexible place. Nothing could penetrate Reed's skin, and it would take more than a bomb to slow The Thing once he got in clobbering mode.

Felicia did the only thing she could think—she aimed her grapple at the ceiling and zipped upwards. A moment later, Ben Grim burst through the exit—quite literally—at Felicia's back. He didn't see Reed until it was too late. With the force of a speeding elephant, Ben collided with the once impenetrable wall of rubber man. Felicia stared, upside down, eyes wide as she saw Reed's stretched form go tumbling as if he were now no more than a sheet put out do dry on a laundry line.

The sight was pathetic, and Felicia felt more a monster than ever. Reed fell around Ben like a blanket. Blind and panicking, Ben stampeded through the wall and onto the street. Once more the ground floor of the Baxter Building was littered with rubble; and once more, Felicia Hardy was to blame. The receptionist poked his head out from behind the desk, staring in mingled fascination and horror.

Quaking, Felicia alighted to the ground. Now was her chance to exit, and she wasn't going to let it pass her by. She sprinted for the gaping hole in the wall, and made for the crisp sidewalk beyond.

It wasn't a pretty sight. Reed had gotten himself back to human form, but he was definitely unconscious. Ben was holding him—in his massive, mountainous arms, the other man looked like a broken doll.

"Reed! Reed!" Ben sounded as if his heart were breaking. People were crowded around, tense and stunned. Felicia melted into the throng, despite her tactile gear and hair making it hard for her to get remotely lost.

She'd done this. She'd made two people as close as Peter and Eddie hurt each other. In the past she'd had sliced at the throat of such empathetic impulses. She didn't need them. But she'd seen too much in the last few years—been a party to too many things to hold back the choke in her throat. All this for a syringe of interdimensional super soldier serum. All this because she couldn't trust perfectly trustworthy people—and yet, she truly believed that the safest place was with the X-Men. The Fantastic Four might have had the serum under lock and key, but someone like Jean Grey could make it so that the entire world forgot about its existence if it came to that...

No. This was best. It had to be. And yet it was something, how two ideals not on the side of villainy could still be at odds.

There was an alley nearby. Felicia made for it as the crowd surged closer to where Ben was cradling Reed. Darkness had already started to fall. It would be easy for Felicia to slip into the shadows and disappear to a safe house of some kind. Then she could call Logan and—

For the second time, she hit a wall. Only this wall wasn't of elongated human skin. It wasn't of anything whatsoever. She simply couldn't walk forward anymore. The darkness of the alley was so near at hand, and yet it was barred by the very air itself.

"Really?" Felicia looked over her shoulder. Susan Richards was walking down a side street, blonde hair whipping in the night wind. Anyone who didn't know her—the people of her adoring public—thought her beautiful, intelligent and nurturing. And she was. She'd had to have been, to have held the disparate likes of Reed, Ben and her adopted little brother together. But had any of them seen the look on her face at that moment, and they'd have added her to the list of the most terrifying people on the planet.

"Big mistake," Sue said, hand aloft as her force field kept Felicia pinioned to the spot. "Now give it back."

"No."

"I'm going to take it from you, Felicia. You've got nowhere else to go."

"No. You're right. But I do have tenacity. Take it from me, keep me here all night until the cops get me. But you know I'll escape." There wasn't a prison in the world that could hold Felicia—she knew them all too well, even the one in the Triskellion that S.H.I.E.L.D boasted of so much. "And when I do, I'll be the one that comes and steals the serum back."

Sue shook her head. For the first time she looked less furious and more hurt. A friend had betrayed her—hurt her loved ones, and the look cut Felicia to the core. "Why won't you trust us?"

"I don't trust chaos." Sue was feet from her. Back in the street proper, Ben was roaring in anguish. "You've never lost anyone like I have, Susan. But you will. No matter how high and mighty you Four act—no matter how good your relationship with the public is, you're still different. You're still on a side. And as long as you are, you'll have targets on your backs. Keep that juice around and somebody will get wind of it. They'll be a lot less likely to accidentally have your husband get clobbered by his best friend."

Sue's hand shook. "You bitch."

"I know I am but what are you?"

"Johnny's going to find you."

"He'll have to catch me."

"I hope he burns you alive."

Something stung behind Felicia's eyes, but she held the tears back. "So do I."

Susan's hand wavered for just a moment. Back on the street, Ben was still crying out for Reed. Nothing but his full force could have incapacitated Mister Fantastic in such a way. Sue's momentary hesitation was all Felicia needed. The force field broke. Whether or not Sue would put it back up again, Felicia didn't stick around to find out. She bolted for the darkness, diving behind dumpsters and climbing over fences as if they were nothing. Cold and shadows wrapped her round, and still she fled, past bums sleeping on the alley floor and over heaps of spilled trash bags. Far overhead she caught sight of a flicker of orange—Johnny was already in pursuit, but she was already almost home free.

There was a manhole ahead. Felicia leapt for it. Her boots met metal with full force. The sewer cover sunk inwards. She fell through dark, putrid air, and then landed on squishy stone a moment later. Johnny wouldn't dare come down here—there was too much potential for explosion with all the fumes reeking the air.

Hands shaking, Felicia withdrew the serum from its holster on her leg. It hadn't been damaged in the fray. Closing her hand around it, she hurried into the sewer. She'd gotten what she wanted. And she wasn't remotely happy.

 **A/N: Please forgive the hiatus. I've had zero desire to update this, and was also really lost with how to proceed. But I think I've got an idea of where to go now, so here's hoping I can conclude this trilogy.**


	8. Intersect

Trees and mountains passed like a happier memories outside the windows of a car that didn't belong to anyone. The snow that had fallen over Hudson Valley had turned into freezing rain. Peter watched everything from behind gray eyes. He'd been pulled from the most beautiful of dreams into the harsh reality of the waking world. Part of him—and he was thankful for how small said part was—wanted to blame Eddie; and it wanted to blame the brooding beast of man now trailing behind them on a the back of a motorcycle.

But one glanceat the stricken look on Eddie's face as he kept his eyes on the road—the exhaustion and guilt written like a book—and Peter couldn't hold onto the bitterness. It wasn't Eddie's fault. None of this was. It was happenstance. And it was happening because of his stance on the fight of good versus evil.

He'd been able to reconcile his life as Spider-Man rather tidily since the battle with Carnage. The city still needed him for the safety of its streets. The Avengers, Fantastic Four and X-Men could handle anything else thrown the way of the world—but New York City still needed her friendly neighborhood webhead. It was a second job to him—a more fulfilling calling than just sitting behind the screen of lab at Horizon and determining some kind of algorithm for Stark Industries' latest gadget.

Like all things in life, he had to exercise moderation. It certainly helped that he had other superheroes to rely on in the Big Apple, as well as the folks of the NYPD. A handful of hours swinging after work—weekends off unless absolutely necessary as per MJ's request—and Bob was really your uncle. That nothing too bizarre had reared its head in the last year was a boon. So to have it now come lurking on his honeymoon made him angry enough to spit scrap iron.

He glanced sidelong at Mary Jane—at his wife. Her arms were crossed. She glared at every tree and shrub that passed by the window, as if wishing all nature a tortuous death. Here he was, disappointing her again; here he was, letting his secret life get in the way. They'd weathered so many storms together, to the point where she'd agreed to be his wife. And once again, Spider-Man's enemies had gotten in the way of things.

His hand stole across the gulf between them. Gently as he could, his fingers brushed the back of her knuckles. As if jolted, MJ looked around. Some of the ice cracked. She smiled, enough to make him relax. She, too, wasn't mad at him—just the situation.

"I'm sorry," he said. He'd said it every hour on the hour since Eddie and the man called Logan had poured out just what they'd been up to since arriving in Hudson Valley.

So it really shouldn't have shocked or hurt so much when he noticed the brief flicker of annoyance in MJ's eyes. She turned away, looking back out the window at the wilderness and gathering night.

"It's not like it's your fault," she said. "It's just one of those things that happens."

 _One those things that happens because you're around me_ , he thought.

He saw a shiver race up Mary Jane's spine. As if she'd heard his thought, she said, without so much as shifting her gaze from the rain now freezing to the window, "Don't even think about it."

Peter frowned. "I'm just trying to—

"It's not helping." She shook her head. "There's nothing anyone can do but just deal with it."

"You've been dealing with it enough, I think."

"Yes." She looked at him again, a mad sort of lightning in her eyes. "I have. And so have you. So maybe I'm just a little more than pissed off that it's happening after all this—when I thought it would let up at least just a little bit."

"I'm not exactly having the time of my life," Peter replied, brows furrowed. "I wanted to make this last longer—

"I know." The definitive note of a wife laying the law down permeated both syllables. "But you apologizing for it isn't going to do anything but make me feel even worse."

"I don't know what else to do," Peter said, almost aghast. "MJ, I—

The car suddenly jerked to the side. Both Peter and Mary Jane gasped in alarm as they were nearly flung from their seatbelts to the right. Peter stared, at first out the windshield, wondering what Eddie had tried to avoid. His eyes met nothing but forest-enclosed road. Realizing that his spider-sense would have picked up on even an elk crossing the asphalt, Peter's attention shifted to the rear view mirror.

Eddie was still staring out the window, but his lips were pressed tightly together, his whole expression hewn from stone.

Peter shared a quick, knowing look with MJ. He sat a little forward in his seat, and squeezed Eddie's shoulder.

"Hey, big guy," he said, comforting as he could. "It happens, alright?"

"Mommy and Daddy still love each other," MJ added. Her lips twitched; the picture of domestic melodrama wasn't lost on her, nor was its complete lack of appropriateness given that Eddie was completely out of the territory of child to them both. But it was his way, even after all this time—to bury the hurt when it came to what really counted. Only now he didn't hide it behind the countless masks he'd worn when Peter had first known him. He'd tossed aside The Fool, The Jock, The Lothario, The Hothead—all those people he's tried to be to hide the truth beneath—and settled for Eddie Brock.

It was why he was host to Venom. It was why he and he alone could unite and heal the shattered fragments of the symbiote.

Still, he was only human. Before he'd run away, Peter had noticed how Eddie's expressions of turmoil had changed from what they'd once been. Before, he'd let the heavens know his wrath—afterwards, he shut up tighter than a bank vault. His silences spoke volumes where words and actions failed.

"I can't feed it in the light of day," Eddie had explained once. "It's gotta eat when I tell it to." When he became Venom, he let the symbiote gorge on all those carefully compartmentalized emotions. But still—Peter sorely missed the old days—when Eddie would raise his voice, or walk around with a mopey, little kid expression. Or when he'd cry like he really meant it. The stonewalled silence hurt, because Peter wanted nothing more than to bust the bricks down and get to the heart of the matter.

It had been the same with MJ when they'd first fallen for each other. Only her ice stood a chance at melting; he could see her behind the translucent cold. With Eddie, it had gotten harder and harder to tell.

Eddie cleared his throat. "We've played the blame game too much," he said. "And I'm not one for reruns, unless it's _Xena_. Besides...we buried the buggy bitch. Probably nothing to worry about."

"Thank you," MJ sighed, but without any of her prior acidity. "I love it when the odds are jinxed."

"Probability ain't my bag," Eddie said. "That's Leasie's deal, and she's not here right now."

"And thank god for that," MJ replied. "Although that would have been kind of kinky...hot platinum blonde; the newlywed couple and their live-in underwear model, plus a tall, dark and hairy dude whose broods like a mothereffer. We ought to start making adult films about our lives."

Eddie chuckled—the first laugh he'd uttered since they'd left the resort. "Underwear model, eh?"

"A girl can dream."

Peter narrowed his eyes. "Careful, Bride."

"Oh please." MJ rolled her eyes. "Don't make that face. You'd like it just as much as I would."

"I'm starting to feel objectified," Eddie said.

"Get used to it, dude." Peter leaned back against his seat. "You're the underwear model here."

Peace, for now. They'd taken the granite and smoothed it over. Some relationships—most conventional ones—weren't so lucky this side of a honeymoon. Even the frosted world beyond the windows of the rental car didn't seem so bleak. But Peter was too wise in his years to assume that everything was completely copacetic. Even if Eddie and Logan had completely encased the thing that had nearly attacked the hotel underneath fifty feet of ice, there were still other discrepancies. For starters, the Spider-Woman Eddie claimed to have seen jump through some sort of portal. She hadn't given attack of any kind, but the mere presence of something so out-of-the-ordinary was enough to hoist a red flag and light the beacons of Gondor.

Another Spider person in the world...over a year ago the thought would have rankled. He'd been out of his head with despondency at The Avengers moving in; only getting his brains out of his backside following his disastrous union with the symbiote had changed his perspective. He could strike a balance—especially with more help. Another reason Eddie's sudden disappearance had been a knife to the gut: Peter had liked having the extra help. They'd patrolled together, fought the bad guys; he'd tempered some of Venom's blood thirst, and looked the other way when they'd gone for the jugular with the more violent criminals. To have that slip away—to have to double-down again, had been a kick to the teeth. But suppose there was truly another...he could tilt the scales back towards balance; make room for Peter Parker a little bit more—plan for his future...for his family.

He leaned a little more comfortably back in the seat. Whatever was happening, things would be okay in the end. They had to be. Yet even as he thought and felt this easy notion, he also experienced that same prickle outside of his rudimentary senses. It was the same sensation he'd felt the night Uncle Ben had died—that disaster was hovering in the atmosphere, just waiting to solidify like the ice crystals swirling by the window of the car.

* * *

Long motorcycle trips weren't entirely outside the realm of Logan's wheelhouse. When you'd spent most of an unnaturally long life living on the move, you made do with whatever mobile accommodations you could find. However, the drive back to New York City from the Hudson Valley was made all the more uncomfortable by both the inclement weather, and that damn nagging feeling that there was something very wrong in the immediate area. Add to the very frosty way he and Eddie had spilled the beans to the Parker's, along with hours of radio silence from Felicia, and he was chewing on his tongue by the time they cleared the road to Queens.

At least they weren't going to Manhattan. Logan would have socked the toll attendant in the face out of sheer spite.

Queens was bucolic. Many people had their Halloween decorations out already, despite the night of nights being farther away than closer. Jack-o-lanterns with no flames sat on each stone step; plastic ghosts and witches hung from trees and lampposts. One lawn had a display of skeletal superheroes, each with tombstones in front of them bearing punny names: _Spider-Man_ was covered in false cobwebs; _DeCapitated America_ held his skull on his shield; and _Hack-Eye_ had a plastic ax in his spinal cord. Logan chuckled at the ingenuity as his hog tumbled down the pavement. This neighborhood was the perfect kind of quaint—abreast of the living chaos of New York City it was hard to believe something as serene could thrive as it did.

It was the kind of place Scott and Jean would have loved.

He waited at a red light behind Eddie's rental car. A cluster of kids no older than fourteen pointed at him, appreciation in their eyes. He missed the school. He wondered how many of the youngsters here had, or would, be touched by mutation.

Good that they were near the end of their journey. He'd find Felicia—if the little minx ever answered his damned texts—tell her what was what, spend a few nights with her, and then go back where he belonged. Whether or not his kitty cat followed him was up to her. He'd been away from the Institute for too long—from his friends and family. Kitty and Rogue would be happy to see him again.

Eddie pulled the car in front of a cozy looking two-story house a few blocks beyond a red brick church. For a moment, no one alighted from the car. Logan was hardly surprised. The conversation back at the resort hadn't been of the pleasant variety. Not only did the Parker's not seem to be pleased with the mysterious arrival of two mysterious beings (the creature who'd called itself Shathra, and the mystery woman Eddie had seen) but Logan had been able to read the intangible something or other between the three. Eddie had been on the run when he'd met Felicia; he'd run away from Peter and Mary Jane, and returned at the same time these unusual things had started happening, thus cutting their wedded bliss short.

It wasn't what was said. Logan had enough experience with people to know that the unspeakable had as much devastating potential as all kinds of acrimonious shouting. But it was beyond him to butt in. He was a perfect stranger to these folks; and as to Eddie, they were old allies and—okay—friends. But it wasn't his place to interfere.

Only when his bike was leaning on its kickstand did the doors of the car open. Peter hurried to the front of his house, and gave Logan an unfathomable look that might have been a smile. MJ, though, walked towards him, arms crossed. Late evening had fallen over the city. A chill breeze fluttered over the Atlantic and the River, stirring the strands of her fiery hair. Her resemblance to Jean was cursory, really. Both stunning redheads, yes—but MJ seemed to be aflame from one end of the spectrum to the other. Jean's fire only came out as Phoenix for a reason.

"Thank you," MJ said.

Logan arched an eyebrow. "What the hell for? Seems to me like I kinda messed the carpet at your dinner party, so to speak."

"Maybe I'm just a sucker for strays."

Glancing at Eddie, who was leaning against the hood of the car, Logan let himself smirk. "I'll say." He sighed, itching for a cigar but not wanting to indulge in front of someone as clean as Mary Jane Parker. "You're good people. All of you. Take care of yourselves, yeah?"

"If I took anymore care of those two," MJ said, "I'd have to put it down as a tax deductibility." She hesitated for a moment, then gave Logan another one of those brilliant dawn-of-the-morning smiles, and hurried inside her home.

Eddie stood still, facing forward, shoulders tense.

"You looking to camp out here or something?" Logan called out.

"I'm taking the car to the nearest Enterprise."

He was stonewalling, and it made Logan's knuckles itch. Shaking his head, he strode from his bike towards the hood of the car. Eddie all but flinched, as if wanting nothing more than to shirk the company of others for the time being. But he didn't scamper. He wasn't like Logan, whose disinterest and lack of craps to give would have had him prowling away with a muttered curse. Eddie, for all he tried to act as if he was a Spartan warrior capable of battling the forces of Xerxes alone, craved companionship.

"Here." Logan withdrew his sleek, silver cigar case and pulled out a Cuban. "Partake if you ain't too uppity."

Eddie chuckled, and took the cigar. "Bad for your health, this."

Logan scoffed, taking a draw from the fine cut. "Half the shit we do is bad for our health, Eddie. Fightin' monsters and the mob; traveling all over the place with no sleep. Might as well pick our own poisons."

The end of Eddie's cigar glowed like an ember in the darkness of midwinter. Logan saw his eyes shine in the brief burn of light—the pain as evident as a tattoo.

" 'Nother thing that kills us quick," he said quietly, "is stabbing ourselves in the guts when we don't need to."

A trail of smoker spiraled from Eddie's mouth. He glared sidelong at Logan. "Not following that."

Which was bull; Eddie just didn't want to admit it. "Do I have to spell it out?"

"Give it a shot."

Logan tapped the ashes from his cigar. "S-T-O-P, B-E-A-T-I-N-G, Y-O-U-R-S—"

"Can't." Eddie looked at the sky. The clouds had gone wispy and golden—streaking through the sunset cast across the horizon. "Not when I've got the blame in my hands."

"Take it from me—it don't look good walking around with your innards hanging out."

Silence fell between them. Cars rushed by. Somewhere down the street, an inconsiderate swine was listening to their music with the bass thudding on high.

"I just wish it was the same," Eddie said at last. He sounded smaller than his frame had any right to permit. "Like it was before I...before I..."

Before he'd left.

Logan put a bracing hand on Eddie's shoulder. "It doesn't go back to how it was. Best thing to do is be okay with whatever's left behind."

Eddie offered a small stab of a smile, but it didn't meet the look in his eyes. It was as if he were trying to usher the conversation along—to be rid of Logan without telling him to go away. Logan knee his type—had been like that once. He chewed on what he wanted to say or do, too scared of the waves that might be made. And if it turned to poison on his tongue, all the better. Maybe if someone saw him turning blue, they'd take the burden of having to be forthright off his broad shoulders.

"Just take advantage of them being near," Logan said. "Trust me, Brock. It can go away quick as a sneeze."

Eddie sighed. "Thanks." He stubbed his Cuban out. "Really. I couldn't have taken that Cronenberg type Beetleborg out without your help, Logan."

"And I'd have had a hell of a time being stitched together without that goop of yours."

"Look our for yourself."

"It's what I do best."

"And tell Felicia...tell her I'll see her again."

Logan smirked, and pushed himself away from the rental. "If you're as smart as you are buff, you won't see her for a long time." And with that he strode back to his bike, climbed into the saddle and was on the streets in a matter of moments. Eddie's having mentioned Felicia only made Logan want to see her all the more. He paused at the first red light, withdrew his phone, and sent her yet another message.

By the time the light went green, the chain of messages were still one-sided on his end. Exhaling in disappointment and frustration, Logan gunned his hog's engine.

Any other person and he might have assumed some serious ghosting was going on. But even when Felicia was mad, she didn't withdraw—she always swiped back. To someone like Logan, the claws coming out was something he appreciated. He didn't like games, and neither did Felicia. So to be kept in the dark—especially as Felicia had sounded so damned concerned when they'd last spoken on the phone—was a sign that didn't advertise anything positive.

Was she out burglarizing? Felicia didn't put herself above petty crime if she saw a particularly striking piece of jewelry, art or fashion—or if the security measures in place were so state of the art that they begged to be taken down a peg. But she'd always replied before—she found it part of the fun, to talk with him while she engaged in some good old fashioned Oceans Eighting.

His nose itched as he drove into Manhattan proper. That sense of wrongness gnawed at him. With events piling up as they had, Felicia going suddenly silent didn't mean anything good...

* * *

Mary Jane walked into her home as Mrs. Parker for the first time, and felt as if she'd slipped into a warm bath. Peter was already in the kitchen, bork-bork-borking better than the Swedish Chef himself. Even with the honeymoon having ended in traditional Wife of Spider-Man fashion, she didn't resent the time they'd spent together in the least. It had been bliss, better so with Eddie there. Granted, he'd been reticent to the point of frustrating, but he'd still been there.

She paused in the doorframe of the kitchen, and watched as Peter got dinner on. He focused on the task—nothing spectacular really—with the same kind of intensity he used when engineering some patent at Horizon Labs. His brows furrowed as he peeled a large sweet potato; his shoulders hunched slightly, and Mary Jane knew that this, at least, was due to his needing the distraction.

Well, to hell with whatever Eddie and that Logan guy had dealt with in the Hudson Valley.

MJ passed across the floor, and wrapped her arms around Peter's waist. He'd sensed her coming, and relaxed into her touch.

"Thank you," she said, kissing him softly on the cheek.

"For what?"

"Giving me this, dumb-dumb." She gestured at the kitchen, the light bouncing off the diamond in her wedding ring. "What I've always really wanted underneath it all."

Peter smiled. "We earned it, baby. Jackpot, remember? I would have to be insane to have not worked hard to earn it all for you." A spark of intensity burned in his normally placid gaze. "And I'm sure as hell not going to let anything get in the way of it."

"Really?" She smirked, teasing his bravado because damn it if it wasn't all kinds of endearing when he got macho protective caveman on her. "Not even a Faustian deal from The Prince of Darkness?"

Peter grimaced. "Not at all. What kind of cheap, cop-out contrivance would that be?"

She kissed him lightly. "A highly unpopular one."

"Where's Eddie?"

"Taking the rental off our hands."

Worry crossed Peter's brow. He squeezed one of the last remaining yams. Orange juices flowed across his fingers.

"He's going to come right back, Tiger," Mary Jane said patiently. "And you can stop terrifying that poor little sweet potato. It's innocent and hasn't done you a single moment of harm."

Peter relinquished his death-grip. "Sorry. It's just...

"I know." Even if she did, she was slightly in the dark as to what to do about it. But she'd learned from her sessions training with Natasha and Steve that it was best to wing it when you were clueless. Improvisation—one of the spices of the stage. "We'll figure it out."

"Together."

MJ smiled. "Together. But first, I have to see what the state of my inbox is after a week away."

"My sexy little workaholic."

"What can I say? I learned from the best." She gave him a quick pat on the ass as she walked away. Peter yelped, and looked at her with a playful expression. They'd have to put a pin in that until after dinner.

Not at all looking forward to the probable mountain of comments, requests for personal appearances and plain correspondences from people via the miracle of the Internet, MJ took herself to their bedroom. She sat down at her laptop, flipped the lid open, and navigated, out of sheer curiosity and a need to avoid seeing Steve's latest stretching techniques, to the Internet.

 _The Daily Bugle_ page splashed open. When one was the wife of a superhero, keeping tabs on the goings-on in the city was a necessity.

What she saw made her heart flutter against her ribs.

A photo of the Baxter Building, rubble strewn everywhere. Police and ambulances were parked on the street. She could just make out the form of Ben "The Thing" Grim and Susan Storm in the sidewalk.

The headline read " _Police Searching For Suspect In F4 Attack_."

It wasn't unusual. The Fantastic Four were a famous team, after all. They'd been under fire from their own foes before.

What made MJ immediately slam the laptop shut was the inset picture. It had been taken from someone's cell phone as the suspect had fled the scene...and it depicted a slinky woman in a black tactile suit, with flowing white hair.

An old Tori Amos song floated through her mind. _This is not real, this is not really happening..._

But when he saw the name beneath the photo, she was forced to complete the chorus: _you bet your life it is._

Mary Jane took a breath.

"Shit," she hissed.

* * *

Still unable to get ahold of Felicia, Logan decided to check in on at her usual hotel. If he's hoped to find leather clad hide or snowy white hair of her there, however, he was sorely disappointed when his search proved futile.

"Sorry," said the pretty receptionist, frowning as she looked over the computer screen, "it says she's checked in indefinitely. Maybe she just went out for a while?"

"Yeah...maybe."

The receptionist leaned forward in a conspiratorial way. "If you ask me," she whispered, "I think she might have skipped town after what happened."

Logan narrowed his eyes. "What'd she do? Shred the curtains?"

"You haven't heard?" Eyes sparkling in the way of one who had some hot tea to spill, she pulled her phone out. Logan waited, his patience lost at the threshold of the hotel lobby, as the young woman brought up something on her Android. A moment later, she showed him video footage captured from someone's camera phone.

Logan's heart sank. He recognized Felicia as she sprinted from what appeared to be the scene of a bombing. A great orange figure was crouched several feet behind her—a living mountain roaring over what appeared to be a dead body.

"She totally trashed the Fantastic Four." The receptionist sounded as if she were torn between disgust and awe. "Good thing for her the cops aren't allowed to check hotel records anymore. Guess that's the one good thing to come from this presidency, huh?"

"When did this happen?"

The receptionist shrugged. "Yesterday afternoon. People have been on a mad for her since then."

"Why don't you tell them she was here?" It was odd, given that the receptionist seemed the type who just loved being the bearer of news.

She shrugged. Logan supposed she'd just love to be the one to turn Felicia over to the authorities. But that wasn't going to happen because Logan would find her first. If not in New York City, then he'd go back to the X-Mansion and ask Jean to use Cerebro.

He hurried out to the dark streets. His senses were on edge, searching for Felicia's scent on the reeling air of the Big Apple. Attuned as they were, it was like looking for lavender in a pile of garbage: there were so many smells that to discern hers properly would take hours, if not days. Tenacious as he was, Logan figured Cerebro would be the better bet.

As his bike tore down the street towards the nearest bridge out, he couldn't help but wonder what had made Felicia gun for the Fantastic Four in the first place. She didn't have any beef with them. As far as he knew, she was borderline friendly with Johnny Storm and Susan Richards. Perhaps she'd gone to steal something? But what? What was so important that she had to break into the Baxter Building and cause that kind of ruckus?

If the things he and Eddie had encountered in Hudson Valley made for a bad figure at the end of the math problem, then Felicia's taking a swipe at the FF made it a whole hell of a lot worse. Logan liked it less than that biting sense of wrongness permeating the air. Because it was Felicia—his Felicia.

Had anyone asked before, and he'd have said that he was quite happy with her company; that he found her not only interesting but—well—sort of enchanting, like a spell given metahuman form. He'd have said, in typical male braggadocio style, that sex with her was in the top five he'd had in his long-lasting life; that fighting alongside her was a lot more fitting than being on any kind of team. But now, with the possibility of Felicia being lost, hunted, in danger from the wrong people, he realized something that made a Mojave-dry chuckle rumble in his chest.

He was in love with her.

Good grief.

He'd gone and fallen in love again.

Someone with more angst in their veins—someone like Piotr or even Scott once upon a younger time—would have wailed to the thunderous heavens; how, oh how could this happen? Was he not a lone wolverine? Another warrior fallen victim to the disease of love.

But Logan wasn't stupid, and he hated melodrama more than injustice. So his second reaction to this epiphany was less "oh damn, not again," and a "well, of course you did, bub. Now get your hairy ass in gear and find the woman before she gets caught in a Cadillac radiator or something."

More likely she'd get cornered by the cops.

Or the Fantastics.

Or—Asgardian gods forbid—The Avengers.

Hopefully not Spider-Man, because that would be awkward.

Shaking his head beneath his helmet, Logan muttered "Jeannie." The communication link embedded in the helmet connected as if he'd summoned the powers of Alexa. After a few rings, Jean's voice answered, warm and brisk.

"Hey," she said, "we were starting to wonder if we'd see you before Halloween. Rahne still wants you to be a part of American Werewolf in London Part Two: An American Werewolf in London in America."

"Gonna have to skip the haunted house this year, Jeannie."

Jean sighed. "Please have a good excuse. You know how much the kids love you."

"Pretty good." Logan narrowed his eyes against the glare as he tore across the bridge towards the Jersey Turnpike. "I need to find someone."

"Oh?"

"Felicia Hardy."

"Ooh." He could just picture the smirk on Jean's face. He actually started to blush a little.

"Not for that reason. She's, uh...in a bit of trouble."

"Bad?"

"Don't know." He paused, then said, "Hey, Red—you haven't felt anything sort of...y'know, off have you? Like there's something gonna happen soon?"

"Now that you mention it...yes. And don't call me Redd. That's not my name. At least not yet."

"' You prefer Madelyne?"

"You wanna get neutered there, _James_?"

Logan laughed. It was nice to have some kind of normal rapport. "Sorry. It's just...there's a lot happening at once. M'startin' to wonder if something big is on the horizon." He'd left the streetlights behind for a mostly deserted stretch of freeway. The light from his hog shone along the concrete like a guiding line in a video game.

"I'll look into it," Jean said. "Your friend, I mean."

"I should be home soon."

"Oh Logan," she put on a theatrical swoon. "You called it home. I guess you're really in this for the long haul."

"Aw, shaddup."

"See you soon."

"Bye, Jeannie."

The connection severed. Like as not Jean wouldn't wait to patch into Cerebro. But if she got wind of what had happened with Felicia and the Four...Logan shook the misgivings off. Jean wouldn't go after anyone Logan considered a friend. Scott maybe, but Jean was good at keeping her hubby abated.

It was just as he rounded a curve in the road that the light at the front of his bike caught sight of something on the edge of the road. He glanced sideways, and then drifted hard left. His tires squealed on the pavement. He nearly grazed the concrete in his effort to do an about face. By the time he'd righted himself, she'd crawled from the bushes to stand in the middle of the empty freeway, six feet from the nose of the motorcycle.

Logan flipped the stand and was off the seat in the blink of an eye. He tore his helmet off and hurried towards her. He didn't hesitate to pull her into his arms. Christ only knew she looked as if she needed it. Her tactile was still on, but he noticed the cuts and tears. Her hair was a matted mass, and she had the look of someone who'd had about three hours sleep in the last twenty-four. She also smelled like a mixture of sewer and river water, but Logan had reeked of far worse things in his life.

"It's okay, kitty cat," he whispered as she huddled close to him. "Logan's here. Whatever's going on..."

It took a few moments for her to calm down. Whatever she'd been doing—whatever she'd gone through— had been a lot.

After a moment, Felicia tore away, suddenly brimming with energy. "We have to get away," she said. "We have to get to the mansion."

Logan frowned, and put his hands on her shoulders, needing her to stay still. "Yeah, darlin'. That's where I'm headin'. Gonna take you with, too. But, Felicia...you gotta tell me what happened. Why the tussle with the FF?"

She looked at him, eyes bright behind her mask. Her chin quivered, but she held it together like Samson. Slowly, she reached for something at the hip of her gear. A moment later, she showed Logan a thick syringe filled with a faintly glowing, purplish-red liquid.

"The hell is that?"

"I went to them—the Fantastic Four—to find that out. It's some kind of serum from another dimension."

Logan stared at her.

Felicia shook her head, and stowed the syringe back from wherever she'd taken it. "Everything's so screwed up, Logan. I should never have gotten involved in this, but no. I had to go doing the 'right thing' again."

"That's 'cause you're a good person, kitten. And what exactly did you do?"

"Someone—someone I know—he got given this stuff." She took a breath, trying to steady herself. "He said that this figure that looked like Spider-Man was fighting this—this creature." She swallowed. "That it killed him before this woman came along and pulled the creature into a portal of some kind."

Logan's jaw dropped. He held a hand up. "This creature—what did it look like?"

"Like a big black spider-wasp." Felicia peered at him, and damn it if he hadn't gone pale to his sideburns. "Oh shit. Logan please tell me you didn't see it—

"Fought it off. With Venom. It's under about fifty feet of ice in the Hudson Valley."

"The Huds—Peter and MJ—

"They're fine, Felicia. Really. They didn't see it. But we got them outta there a bit early on." He took a breath. Things were tethering together faster than he really liked.

Felicia looked around at the dark freeway. "I'm not sorry I took it," she said fiercely. "Not now. If that wasp creature is still out there...she could have gone to the Baxter Building, and I thought it would be safer at the mansion."

Logan pinched the bridge of his nose. There was truth in that. But if Jean caught wind of Felicia's having been culpable in some kind of attack—no matter the intent—it would make things beyond difficult with the X-Men. They already harbored someone who'd once been on the wrong side of the law, and while Frost was definitely batting a thousand for the right team these days, Logan doubted his chosen family would take in yet another stray.

He smelled gasoline; felt the pavement vibrate under his feet. A car was coming, far enough down the Turnpike that they'd make a quick dive for cover no sweat. A moment later, his sensitive ears picked up the feedback from the commlink in his helmet. He could just hear Jean, her voice brisk and sharp—she'd probably pegged not only Felicia's location, but gotten intel on her recent exploits as well.

Growling, he took Felicia by the wrist and hurried them towards his hog. He swiped the helmet off the ground, unsheathes his claws, and impaled the headwear completely through. Without explaining to a shocked Felicia, he tossed it into the nearby bushes.

The car was getting closer.

"Climb on," he said, as he himself slid onto the saddle.

"Logan, where are—

"Away. You need to lay low and get some serious sleep. We'll figure it out as we go."

Felicia didn't hesitate. She wrapped her arms around his waist, and pressed her face to his back. Like she was made for it—for being with him.

Logan chuckled grimly and gunned the engine.

Headlights created the small hill on the freeway. A Jeep came into sight a moment later, the windows rolled down. As they sped by, Logan caught a quick snippet of a song so iconic it may well have become the new national anthem.

"... _tramps like us, baby we were born to run_..."

Fitting.

Shaking his head, Logan went full throttle. He had no idea where they were going. All he knew was that he wasn't about to risk things turning to catastrophe when Felicia was so over her head.

He owed her that much, at the very least.

 **A/N: So. Many. Threads. Ah well. Hope you're digging it so far. Things will start coming together soon.**


	9. Exchanges

The cold was supreme—absolute and suffocating. Shathra had been to many planes where ice and snow held dominant sway. But never had she been within it. She'd been so accustomed to being the twisted apex killer her creator had fashioned that the thought of being overcome stirred something within her. It cut through in the boney grasp of ice—a sort of stabbing feeling deep in her body, as if she'd been impaled on her own lethal barb.

Fear.

That was it.

She was going to die down here.

Time had become meaningless since the days she'd thought of death. Her maker had made her nigh-invincible. But Shathra realize that it was the nature of anything that existed to potentially cease. Even things immortal could be killed—as well she knew, having aided in the demise of many an immortal being.

Now, sealed beneath ice, she felt a fervent, desperation. She did not want to die. It was odd. She'd taken life so frequently that it had come to be meaningless. Was this what all the Spiders felt like when she or her Maker took their lives? The frantic need to live?

As the darkness and cold pressed in, she tried to move—tried to beat her wings. But the ice was too solid.

Her long, sharp fingers stretched forwards—to what she did not know. Where was her Maker? Why hadn't he come to help her? Had she not done for him everything he'd asked? To be abandoned—after all the torture and mangle she'd endured at his hand—was the cruelest fate.

But he would not save her.

Nobody would.

* * *

The warmth surrounding Peter was cozier than a handmade quilt on a cold midwinter day. Surfacing through sleep, he wanted nothing more than to hang onto it for just a moment longer. So, abandoning protocol for rising at what most considered an ungodly early hour, he did just that. Rolling onto his side, he snuggled closer to the soft, lithe body next to his.

He could smell her—that sweetness of her hair and the scent of her skin. She was home to him, after all these years of feeling like such a lost little kid, he'd found someone to stand with him; to protect; to love. She gave him more of a purpose than his vocation as Spider-Man.

The impulse to kiss her awake was tempting. But she didn't deserve to be disturbed at this ungodly hour. Not after the way things had ended in Hudson Valley.

So he contented himself with just watching her—her serene face as she slept; the gentle rise and fall of her chest.

 _Please be having good dreams_ , he thought. MJ had suffered enough in her life. At least in sleep she could have escape.

Eventually, the need for caffeine came clawing at his brain. Sighing, he left the bed as gently as he could, and tucked his feet into a pair of slippers. All around him stirred the warm air of his home—his castle.

It seemed so strange, he thought as he shuffled quietly down the hallway to the kitchen. The awkward, outcast orphan boy of Midtown had turned into this—into a man. He thought it would have felt different—that he'd have a martini every evening, a pipe by the fireplace and starched and ironed white shirts. That was what grown ups did, wasn't it? Yet here he was, —a man.

He felt better than he had in years. Not happy. Just content. Even with the sword of Spider-Man always dangling over him, he felt a complete person.

Peter put the coffee on when he heard a stifled grunting snore sounded from the living room. Another soft smile crossed his lips. He padded across the floor. The blinds were down, shutting out the early gray of the autumn dawn. Eddie's bulky form lay asleep on the couch, an old crocheted blanket covering him from bare chest to ankles. His brows were creased in sleep; he fidgeted once or twice, and Peter frowned.

He was having nightmares.

He'd never believe it himself, because that was one of the ways in which Eddie's damage manifested; but he deserved solace in slumber just as much as Mary Jane. Having lived without it for a year and then some, Peter understood that Eddie gave his life something tangible, even if he couldn't name it. Sure the rawness of being up and left without explanation was still there. But he loved Eddie still. He couldn't abide him having bad dreams.

Leaning over the arm of the sofa, Peter pressed a soft kiss to Eddie's temple. Almost at once, his whole Olympian frame relaxed. Softness crept over his features.

Peter chuckled softly to himself. Go figure he had powers beyond spinning a web any size.

Figuring that he had a solid hour or two before his wife and best friend woke up, he decided to set about making breakfast. Eddie, he knew, had an appetite to rival an Asgardian, and the sooner he got cracking at toast, eggs and fresh fruit, the better they'd all be once the household awoke.

Four slices of toast popped, and an entire pot of coffee percolated as he got ready. He propped his phone up on the kitchen counter, and tuned into the streaming service for the local news station. It was a habit—a good way to check in on his city in case Spider-Man was needed. Humming to himself, Peter half listened to the traffic report, and cracked two eggs over the simmering skillet.

"...going to be a brisk one today..." said the weatherman. "Parts of the state aren't doing as hot, though. Snow still falling on Maine and North Jersey..."

Peter rolled his eyes. It was cute that these people thought they could predict the weather. Bigger things than human desire dictated the pattern of the planet.

He grabbed a third egg. Better to get Eddie's supersized helping down before moving onto his and MJ's more modest portions. Not that he minded. He rather found Eddie's more caveman tendencies weirdly endearing.

"...police are assisting The Fantastic Four in the continued search for notorious burglar Felicia Hardy..."

Peter stared at the screen so fast that his neck cracked in protest. The screen showed a scene on the street outside The Baxter Building. Crowds were clustered around what appeared to be The Thing and Mister Fantastic himself. And there, darting from a massive hole in the side of the FF's headquarters was the unmistakably slinky form of Black Cat.

"...allegedly stole something from the team's research lab and is still missing...police and The Fantastic Four are urging anyone with information to come forward..."

Involuntarily, Peter's strength flexed—a minimum for him, but even so, it was enough to cave the fragile shell of the egg. Yolk and whites coated his palm and dripped through his fingers. Smoke rose from the frying pan as the two former sunnysides on the stove began to brown at the edges.

First Logan and that alleged attack at the hotel in Hudson Valley. Now one of his closest friends and allies was stealing from The Fantastic Four? What the hell was happening to the world?

He continued to stare at the video without really seeing it. Part of him hated what he was about to do next, but it was no good to linger in confusion. Flipping the burner off, he threw the scalded skillet in the sink, and shoved the eggs back in the fridge.

Ten minutes later, Spider-Man was swinging down the streets of Queens. Halloween decorations and cars were a blur of pre-dawn darkness around him. Traffic was already moving at a crawl across the bridges into Manhattan. As usual, people pointed fingers and phones at him. He offered a few waves and salutes, but his mind was burning with a need for satiation. None of this added up. Felicia was friends with Johnny for want of a better description; if she wanted something that badly from The Fantastic Four, why go through the effort of stealing? Did she do it for kicks?

At best, Spider-Man thought as he leapt and bounded across the top of the Queensboro, she's likely been replaced by a Skrull. He remembered the battle he and Felicia had fought together on this very bridge several years ago. He'd still been so much of a spitfire back then—so determined to bury the blade between his ribs before he tried to believe in himself. And Felicia...she'd still straddled the line of anti-heroine at the time—had been working with Harry when he'd still had too much of the goblin in him—but she'd put the claws away when she'd found out about the plans Harry had for Spider-Man. She'd done the right thing.

Shaking his head as he swung into the heart of Manhattan, Spider-Man made up his mind on one thing: he wasn't going to take this at face value. Whatever Felicia had done, there had to be a reason behind it—coercion, perhaps. Or maybe even something the FF weren't telling the public.

The sun was up proper by the time he landed on the outside window of the Baxter Building. It was, as the meteorologist had predicted, a beautiful morning. But there was something on the fringes of his senses—both rudimentary and spider—that prickled with a sense of oncoming calamity.

But he had to prioritize. And right now, Felicia was more important than generalized anxiety.

Despite the earliness of the hour, the Storm siblings were already awake and pacing around the living quarters of the upper floors. Judging from the expressions they wore, it didn't appear as if they were discussing crochet patterns. Spider-Man watched and waited, hazarding a guess that they were talking about Felicia's break-in.

Johnny chanced a glance out the window. The second his eyes met those of Spider-Man's, he dropped his conversation with Susan. In three strides, he crossed the room, and opened the window.

"You're supposed to be in Hudson Valley." He sounded so plainly shocked that it took Spider-Man as slightly affronting.

"Sorry," he said as he slipped across the sill and into the warm confines of Johnny's suite of rooms. "Next time I see shocking evidence of my good friend robbing my best man, I'll leave you to sort it out."

Johnny snorted. "That lousy minx...I don't mean to question your taste in friends, dude, but what the hell."

Spider-Man narrowed his eyes. "Funny you should bring up questions, because I've got about a library's worth of them. Starting mostly with what the ever loving hell she felt compelled to steal from you."

"It's a super soldier serum." Susan was standing with arms folded. She looked weary to the bone, but the wall crawler knew well that a little thing like being exhausted wouldn't make her back down. "She brought it to us—

"Wait a minute." Spider-Man held a gloved finger up. "She brought the thing that she stole to you. You sure she wasn't just taking back property?"

"It hardly belonged to her," Susan said through clenched teeth. "Some kid was given it by this..." She frowned, searching for words. Apparently settling for simplicity, she added, "This Spider-Man from another plane of reality. That's why we wanted to keep the serum. It's has signatures from an alternate dimension."

The silence that followed was so absolute that Spider-Man's enhanced hearing heard every background sound of the TEDTalk lecture being watched in the room down the hall—which, he knew, belong to Reed and Sue. He looked from one to the other, anticipating some kind of sign that Susan had misspoken.

But the stony faces of both the Human Torch and Invisible Woman made him realize with a sinking feeling that they were not.

His fingers clenched into a tight fist. Fan-freaking-tastic indeed! First this mysterious set of visitors Venom and Logan encountered, and now he apparently had not only a doppelgänger of the feminine persuasion running around, but now there was one from the Twilight Zone. And just after Eddie had finally come back...just after he'd been the happiest man in the world...

Unable to control the impulse, he whirled around and punched the nearest wall. Cement cracked beneath his knuckles.

"Jesus, dude!" Johnny yelped. "That wall was innocent!"

"I can't help it," Spider-Man snarled. "I've got just about everyone I thought I could trust going turncoat or plain keeping secrets from me." His voice rose. Despite his every effort to keep it controlled. "You could have sent me a message—hey, numbnuts not to harsh your mellow or anything, but your friend and mine is making a patsy out of—

"You were on your honeymoon." Susan spoke in a tone of voice Spider-Man was sure she used to keep the peace among her family. "We wanted to give you a little peace and quiet."

"We can handle this, Pete," Johnny said, more placatingly than his sister. "It's on our turf."

"And that happens to be one of my best friends you're zeroing in on." He looked from one to the other. "You don't think I don't know what you're going to do? You've actually got the police in your pocket and unlike me, you don't have The Daily Bugle painting you out to be a menace to society. You'll cart her off and lock her away. And yeah, maybe it was wrong of her to run you four the way she did but Felicia doesn't fight back unless she gets swiped at first." He saw a guilty flush creep over Johnny's face. Sue, meanwhile, regarded him with cool dispassion—like her disappointed mother tricks would actually work on him.

"This has nothing to—" Sue began. But Johnny rose to the occasion.

"Sue," he said, in a timbre far more mature than his devil-may-care party boy image would lead people to believe him capable of, "cork it." He ignored her outraged glare, and kept his gaze level on Spider-Man. "You've got eight hours. She took off yesterday afternoon, so that puts it near twenty-four. You don't find her, we send the cavalry? Deal?"

It wasn't what he wanted. He wanted them to back off and let him deal with all the weird chaos encroaching on his life. He wanted them to leave Felicia to him, because unlike the Fantastic Four, he wouldn't throw her in the choke. But taking this olive branch was the only way he'd get anywhere, no matter how fragile it was.

"Deal." And, without another word, he turned around, opened the window, and swung away.

* * *

 _Coffee, Brock_. _We smell coffee—fresh coffee. Small batch. Craft. Sustainably resourced. Brazilian. Grown in the Andes. North Slope, from the smell._

"Oh my god," Eddie groaned, covering his eyes with his arm. "Alright, already. Just shut up." He sat up straight, the blanket—one that he knew Anna Watson had actually made during a hardcore artsy phase and given to Peter as a mingled birthday present-stroke-peace offering—pooled around his waist. He could hear nothing but the hum of the central heating. Stretching his symbiotic sense, he discerned that the only person in the house was Mary Jane; that she was still asleep, and that someone had attempted to make eggs but burnt them.

Frowning, Eddie clambered off the sofa. A glance at the wall clock showed him it was only a little after six. What had gotten Peter up and at 'em the day after his honeymoon vacation? Today was the day he and MJ were meant to come back from the resort, so he wouldn't have had to go into Horizon for anything.

 _I swear to Christ_ , he thought as he stalked towards the kitchen, _if he's out Spider-Manning I'm going to flip out._

 _Spider-Manning without you_ , said the symbiote. _What a mean thing to do after we cut his honeymoon short._

Rolling his eyes, Eddie entered the kitchen. He found the frying pan making the egg scent; saw the fresh pot of coffee, and noticed that Peter had neglected to bring one important thing with him before he'd left. His smartphone was still propped on its popsocket.

Like any person owned by technology, Peter never left the house without his phone, not even when simply grabbing milk from the bodega. The screen showed a paused media feed, which, Eddie surmised, might have had something to do with Peter's taking off in such a hurry.

 _Take a look_ , said the symbiote. _It's in a book. A Reading Rainb—_

"One more remark out of you," Eddie muttered, even as he took the phone off the counter, "and I'm taking us both to an oil refinery and only one of us is coming back." That manages to shut the symbiote up good and proper. Shaking his head, Eddie quickly entered the passcode—really, Peter ought to have known better than to use the name of his D&D character all these years on.

The news stream was paused, the phone having gone to sleep before the feed could be refreshed. But it didn't need to be live, because the pause frame told Eddie everything he needed to know. At the bottom, the news tape read "FF Seek Felicia Hardy In Baxter Attack" and over the head of news anchor Bernice Waltuck was an image of Felicia on security footage.

Eddie's mouth went dry. Smoke led to fire, he knew that by now. Peter had probably seen the new story and gone running to investigate. And what the hell had gotten into Felicia? Nothing short of impersonation by a skrull explained her behavior. And why the hell hadn't she reached out to him in all this? After everything they'd gone through together...

A slight groan from down the hall caught his ear. He heard sheets rustling, and the sound of mattress springs groaning. MJ was awake.

Slipping Peter's phone into the pocket of his sweatpants, Eddie cast hastily retrieved a bowl from the cupboard, poured himself the first box of cereal he could reach, and plopped his ass into the nearest chair. Mary Jane came around the corner a split-second later. Her hair was a complete mess, her eyes bleary. She wore a simple spaghetti strap too and a pair of Peter's old boxers. She'd say she was a sight for sore eyes, but Eddie found it adorable.

She looked around the kitchen as if she didn't know it. Then her eyes found him, and slid into focus.

"Not my husband," she said, "but he'll do I suppose."

"Ouch." Eddie took a bite of Honey Nut Cheerios to avoid saying anything about Felicia or Peter. "Here I am half-naked in your kitchen and all I get is a 'he'll do.'"

MJ made a beeline for the coffee. "You're up early."

"It's not easy fitting this hot bod of mine onto a sofa the size of a ballet slipper."

"I like that sofa. Peter and I rescued it from the back alley when we moved in here." Thusly armed with a mug of joe, she sank onto the chair opposite Eddie. "Speaking of my groom, where'd he take off to anyway?"

Eddie took yet another gulp of cereal and shrugged, forcing himself to look at the wall. The second they locked eyes he knew that she'd figure it out. Maybe not the whole kit and kaboodle, but a general portion of it at the very least.

MJ sighed. "Not even a day back here and already things are..." Her voice trailed off. A far away look came into her eyes. Mouth still full of cereal, Eddie cocked his head to the side, wondering what was up.

The seconds ticked by. Someone's dog barked at a passing car outside. Queens was waking up all around them. Eddie wondered if Felicia was still in the city at all. Knowing her she'd probably have hightailed it for the West Coast when the wanted posters popped up, but why had she attacked The FF in the first place? They were heroes, weren't they?

Across from him, Mary Jane exhaled slowly through her nose. Then both she and Eddie met each other's gaze at the exact same time, and Eddie felt as transparent as a glass display case. And yet, despite knowing that MJ knew that he knew about Felicia and the Fantastic Four, he was prevented from feeling guilty for hiding it because the second he looked into those hurricane green eyes, he realized with a jolt—not really knowing how—that Mary Jane had also, at some point in the last twelve hours—learned of the attack.

Their eyes widened simultaneously. Eddie dropped his spoon, and pointed a shaking finger at MJ.

A moment later the screen door of the kitchen opened with a sharp clack. Eddie jumped, and Mary Jane just managed to catch her coffee mug before it fell to the table.

Dressed in his civilian clothes, Peter stood before them, his face grave.

A strange telepathy passed between the three of them. MJ buried her face in her hands; Eddie stared at the table. Only Peter appeared master of himself.

With a sigh, he crossed the floor. "How long did you know?" He asked Mary Jane.

"Since last night," she said, sounding sick with herself. Peter smiles, took the seat next to her, and held her hand.

"I'm sorry you had to deal with that alone, baby," he said. He looked to Eddie. "What about you?"

"About five minutes ago."

"You okay, big guy?"

Eddie nodded. "I am, now that I know you kids ain't falling to pieces over it." It was, after all, his job as the protector of them. And it was the least he could be after what he'd done to them in cutting out.

"Why, though?" MJ asked, sounding as if she was being asked to force a square peg through a circular hole the size of a pin.

"It's a little more complicated than that," Peter said. "Apparently Felicia got a hold of some super soldier serum. The way I was told, it changed hands from a...from a Spider-Man look like to some kid to Felicia. She brought it to the Baxter Building and then, I can only guess, decided she'd rather keep it." He scoffed. "Typical her, right? Go kicking up a sandstorm when she's about to make her exit."

He seemed oblivious to the blank stares on the faces of the others. Talk of typical behavior, when it was so Peter Parker to get wrapped up in something at risk of anything going on around him.

"Just backing up here five seconds," MJ said. "A Spider-Man from another dimension..."

"Yeah. Screwed up, isn't it? But that was where Sue, Johnny, Ben and Reed all got their genes twisted."

"Yeah but...Spider-Man?" MJ shook her head. "You're Spider-Man."

"It might have something to do with the woman I saw," Eddie said., suddenly struck by the idea. "The one who disappeared into that portal."

"It might," Peter sighed. "But one thing at a time. I've got eight hours and counting to find Felicia. That's the window Johnny gave me, and if I don't round her up, the FF are going to go for her instead."

Eddie snorted. "And this guy was your Best Man."

Peter narrowed his eyes. "Yeah, because the one I wanted was kind of on the lam."

He may well have slapped Eddie with all his might. Judging from the stricken look on his own face, Peter wished he hadn't touched such a sore spot at all.

"Okay," MJ said, getting to her feet. "That's the limit of this conversation. We've got eight hours, you say? And the cops haven't found her and neither has The Fantastic Four?"

"No." Peter gave her a pointed look. "And I've got eight hours—

But she walked away before he could finish.

Peter let out a defeated sigh.

Eddie, staring at his knees, felt shame prickling his face.

Brock, the symbiote said with a gentle nudge, don't be sad, Brock. He's right there...

"Eddie..."

Still, he didn't look up. Despite a part of him knowing the absurdity of thinking so, Eddie saw himself as orchestrator of all these sudden calamities. It was his fault, he thought—all his fault. If he had just been there from the beginning, just stayed by them both—

"Baby."

Eddie snapped to attention, a flush creeping up his neck. Peter had never been that forward with him before—rarely had he ever used the endearment.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I shouldn't have gone there."

Clearing his throat, needing something to do, Eddie reached into the pocket of his pants. "Your phone," he said, handing it across the table.

"You didn't look at any of my nudes, did you?"

"As if I hadn't see it all before, tiger." That damn blush crept higher on his face. Geez, and he was the one who'd always bragged of those meaningless conquests. Those days had been more halcyon—more uncomplicated. Before he'd truly turned and faced the strange.

 _Ch-ch-ch changes_ , the symbiote sang.

It was fortunate that Mary Jane returned at that moment, phone in front of her face. Otherwise Eddie would have hushed the goo beneath his skin aloud.

"Can I just reiterate how thankful I am that they increased the character limit on Twitter?" MJ sat back down. After several seconds more she smirked in triumph, and turned the phone to the other two.

Eddie peered forward and read the Tweet she'd composed.

Hey all. A friend of mine has been a bad, bad girl and she's currently MIA. If any of y'all have seen this chick in your area, please give me a DM.

"Somehow," Eddie said, "I have this strange clairvoyant sense that you're going to receive a lot of shit posts." She had—at Eddie's last count—some two million followers: no small feat for an Internet celebrity.

"Ah," said MJ, even as her phone began to sound off in earnest. "And that's where my discerning eye comes into play."

Peter looked at her as if she'd been the one to solve strong theory. "Did I hit the jackpot or what?"

"Yes," she said brightly. "That's what I said the night we finally bumped into one another." She narrowed her eyes. "Hmm..."

"What's up?" Eddie asked.

"Lots of sightings from the Philly area. People have said things about a woman matching Felicia's description with a big dude on a motorcycle."

"You'd think she'd know better than to be so conspicuous," Eddie mused. "I know she's got wigs." The disguise tech that she'd used to infiltrate the Triskellion the year before had been, sadly, lost with the death of Harry Osborn, and Felicia enjoyed the thrill of personal appearance too much to go further than typical espionage.

"It's her bust," MJ said. When Eddie and Peter chuckled, she gave them a pointed stare. "Honestly, you two..."

Peter caught Eddie's eye. "Hey, I put a ring on it. I'm not going there."

"Leasie has a great rack," Eddie said. "But how does—

"She does not just have a great rack," MJ said. "Her body is outrageous. People can tell Kim Kardashian from just a shadowy profile and Felicia is no different. Even if she went around wearing a granny wig there's nothing short of holographic projection that could hide that body. Add that Logan is with her and that they've got a motorbike and the recipe is prime for target. Besides—" she gestured with her phone —" you have that many similar reports from the same area, and it's more simple to weed out the crap from the credible." She smiled in satisfaction. "God damn, I guess fame really does have its perks."

Eddie grinned. He loved the way she defied expectations. Then again she'd always been sent-possessed, even in the days of their acquaintance when she'd behind the counter of a crappy coffee shop.

"So Philly?" Peter mused. "I wonder where she's heading..."

"Not to the X-Mansion," Eddie said. "Which is kinda weird. You'd think Logan would have ferreted her away there. They're Switzerland, and they've got the kinda scientific equipment to give Tony Stark a hard on."

"Please," Peter said, squeezing his eyes shut, "never talk about my de facto boss's junk again."

"They might be playing a rundown game," MJ suggested. A storm crossed her eyes for a moment—a brief flash of lightning where once a Category Five would have raged. "My dickhead father did that before he got arrested for good. They call it Pulling an OJ, which I think is very inappropriate."

Peter sighed. "I might not catch up with her," he said. "If she's been seen around there she could take off any second."

"But you might be able to, as your beautiful bride said, run her down. Maybe we can call her bluff." Eddie rankled at the thought, but Felicia certainly had some explaining to do. "I might be able to get a hold of her and tell her I know where they both are. Then we can have a little business meeting."

Peter's brows arched. "We?"

"Yes," Eddie said with a derisive roll of his eyes. "You'll cover more ground. And she might be more willing to hear me out."

With a sigh, Peter got to his feet. "Fine. But we're sticking to that time limit."

"Throwing her to the dogs?"

"Hey, I didn't tell her to get the FF so worked up. And I have a curfew."

"Yes," MJ said, still using her Internet influence for daring-do, "you both do. It comes up Milhouse, you both come back here and stay here. Capiche?"

Eddie nodded. "Seems fair." He sat up. "Where you wanna suit up, tiger?"

"Same place as usual. The only person I saw on my way back was Miles, and he looked half dead as he was taking the trash out." He bent and kissed MJ. "We'll be back in time for Drag Race."

"Okay." She eyed Eddie, who gave her a quick hug. Then both he and Peter set about preparing to leave. Dressed in record time, Eddie and Peter left the house minutes later.

"What I really want to know," Eddie said as they walked down the back alley, "is just who the hell the kid who gave Felicia that serum was in the first place."

"We'll figure it out," Peter said. Eddie could sense the thrill vibrating off him like the pulse of a ringing phone. Was he excited to be out in the chase, or just happy to be with Eddie again? Either way, there were more important things to do. Peter was right. They would figure all this out—together.

* * *

Mary Jane knew exactly how long it would take for her husband and Eddie to disappear to the spot where Peter usually suited up. She set up clearing the kitchen, humming to herself.

It was so adorable, she thought as she started the dishwasher, how the two men in her life thought she was going to stay put. Too much had gone on in too short a space of time. And while it had been quite a while since any major disasters had come into the web of Spider-Man's life, she wasn't about to let this one tangle them up.

Not after what Carnage had done.

When she was certain the eight minutes and fourteen seconds it took Peter to walk to the little nook behind the church two blocks down had elapsed, she went to their room, changed into her day clothes, and swiped her car keys off the nightstand. She could get to Philly just as fast with some deadly driving skills.

Anything was better than her sitting back and waiting around—being the wife of the heroes. She'd been there the night of Carnage's rampage, and she'd helped. This wasn't the same thing, not remotely. Besides, she considered Felicia a friend. Might as well add her two cents.

She left the house a whole fifteen minutes after Peter and Eddie did. Climbing into her car, she drove away, eyes narrowed against the early morning light.

Neither she, nor Peter, nor Eddie had been aware that someone else had been listening in on their conversation. The window of the kitchen had been open, and as it transpired, the window of the Morales kitchen had likewise been wide, letting the cool air in. And Miles Morales, fighting against insomnia for the third day in a row, had heard absolutely everything that had been said.

He waited, guilt weighing on his shoulders. Then, with a nod, he also hurried outside, hopped on his bike, and raced after Mary Jane's car.


	10. Whiplash

Anyone looking upwards traveling from New York City to Philadelphia would have been shocked to see both Spider-Man and the hulking dark figure swinging along beside him. Venom and the web-slinger made it from the skyscraper clutter of Manhattan and Brooklyn, then to Staten Island and finally onwards down roads and highways that cut through suburbs.

" _Strangers in the night..._ " Venom sang, sipping along rather merrily on their obsidian lines. Spider-Man, keeping pace with them despite their inter-dimensional skill, couldn't help but chuckle.

"It isn't even ten in the morning yet," he called as he let himself free fall just in time to sail over a buzzing neighborhood street just south of Newark.

"Don't play semantics with us, webhead," Venom replied. "We're having the time of our lives and we owe it all to you. And Leasie for catching the canary and running off with Mister Brooding and Hairy."

Spider-Man squeezed his eyes shut. "I'd say that revealing too much information is a result of symbiosis, but I know you too well for that."

"We are who we are."

It all seemed so easy. And really, Spider-Man could think of no reason why it wouldn't be. It was a simple find and retrieve, if it would turn out to be that at all. Felicia was a friend; in the case of _Her versus The Fantastic Four_ , he genuinely leaned more towards her side of the story because it seemed as though she had more credibility.

Granted, she shouldn't have let things escalate, but the FF shouldn't have attacked at all. She'd simply taken what had been entrusted her. There was, in his mind, every likelihood that Reed Richards' brand of scientific hubris had made him feel as though he was the expert on all things dimensional. And he wasn't. He'd only been to another dimension. Beings like Thor lived in one. It made him no less of an expert than it did Tony Stark, who'd been through a wormhole just as long as The Fantastic Four had been when their Quantum Gate has actually worked.

Spider-Man maneuvered around a billboard. Overhead, Venom's shadow loomed like a protective hawk. Beneath his mask, the webslinger grinned to himself. He'd missed Eddie deeply, and had tried to move forward. So had Mary Jane. Together they'd forged something closer and more intense than they'd had before. But still...he needed that missing piece; that certain something that the presence of someone like Eddie gave him.

"Pennyfarthing for your thoughts?" Venom said as they landed on top of a bank in the township of Elizabeth.

"I don't think an Edwardian era bicycle is going to help much," Spider-Man said. At that moment, his stomach gave a pronounced growl. His shoulders sagged even as Venom howled with laughter, sending a flock of pigeons in a nearby tree flapping away in fear. "Okay, okay," the wall-crawler admitted, "so maybe I left the house on an empty stomach."

Venom shook their head. "That's no good at all. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day no matter what people who intermittently fast tell you."

Spider-Man rolled his eyes. "And you had, what—two spoonfuls of Cheerios?"

" _Honey Nut_ Cheerios to be precise. And we technically don't have to eat when we're Venom. Plant life, remember? We can photosynthesize off our own essence."

"And now I'm not hungry anymore." His stomach gurgled again.

"Lies. Don't worry, Spidey." Venom narrowed their eyes. There was a convenience store just across the street from them. "We have our ways." And before Spider-Man could protest, the big brute leapt off the building, clear across the street, and landed in front of the convenience store.

* * *

"Excuse us," Venom said as they stood at the checkout of the small bodega. "We'd like some help, please."

The disaffected teenager working behind the counter glanced up from their iPad once, and then did a terrified double take. Their fear wafted from them like a whiff of Axe body spray: tart and chemical and sickening to Venom's senses.

Venom deposited the corner store sandwich and bag of chips on the counter. "I'll take some of these, my good—uh, what exactly are your pronouns? We don't want to be insensitive."

The kid scrambled to pay. Around them, Venom felt the stares and shock of others. They lavished it—people ought to be afraid of them given what they were capable of.

"T-ten thirty-s-six," the teen stammered.

Venom used a line of symbiote skin to withdraw Eddie's wallet. They dropped a crisp twenty on the glass, swiped the loot and said, "Keep the change, ya filthy animal." And then they walked out of the store and back into the crisp autumn air.

* * *

Five minutes later, a sufficiently replenished Spider-Man was sipping along the I-95 with Venom by his side. "You're the worst," Spider-Man called. "I ever tell you that?" The recrimination was downplayed by his laughter—boisterous and joyful and free of care despite what faced them both at the end of this journey.

"Next time we'll let you starve," Venom replied.

"I didn't really need the food."

"Yes, you did. Leasie scratches," Venom answered. "And that's only if we find her, and only if Logan's claws don't come out."

Spider-Man sighed in sober understanding. It could, he knew, take a while to find Felicia. By web the journey to Philadelphia would be two hours and then some. And who was to say that she and Logan were still kicking around? She could have seen MJ's Tweet and decided to go even farther from New York City.

 _We'll find her_ , he thought. Even if they didn't, they'd find evidence of her. He'd come up with a way to get in touch—earn her trust. She could tell him what the deal was with that stupid serum. Then they could all work together to figure it out somehow.

He narrowed his eyes against the rush of autumn air. He'd worked so hard for what he had—and a miracle had come into his life with the return of Eddie. He wasn't going to let these strange occurrences ruin it all.

* * *

Luck was on Miles Morales' side. In his determination to chase after Mary Jane, he'd been prepared to follow her car via bike wherever she went. His mind, already a squishy pulp due to the encounter with the flying monster and the strange Spider-Man, was in a state of complete shock. Yet in the way that those suffering a massive upheaval tended to do, his motor skills took charge: pedal; breathe; look; listen.

He kept well back from MJ's Jeep, keeping his hoodie up so that she wouldn't see him. Every time the traffic stopped, he kept his bike and body well out of sight of her side mirrors. Knowing her she'd give him a well-deserved earful, call his mother and wait until Rio showed up on the scene. And after everything he'd heard through that window, Miles couldn't be diverted.

Neurons fired like torpedo jets in his brain. He couldn't form a whole picture, but the pieces all shone clear as a winter moon. Peter Parker was Spider-Man; had been ever since he was pretty much Miles' age. Something had happened to that serum Miles had given to the woman with the white hair—Felicia Hardy—the one the news was looking for. Eddie and MJ were involving themselves some how. Parts of it didn't make sense—although Miles hasn't been sleeping well so his mental processes weren't as sharp as usual. But one thing he knew for certain—he had a debt to pay. Peter's being Miles's favorite hero changed everything. It made the event of that terrible night after the convention all the more personal. Something was happening involving Spider-Man—and Miles had a part to play in the event, even if he had just been a bystander.

So, if he had to tail Mary Jane to Philadelphia by bike, he'd do so.

Fortune had different, more opportune plans, however. He'd been following Mary Jane for maybe twenty minutes when she took a different exit from the one that would lead out of New York City. Despite his bemusement, Miles followed, steady as ever. It was only when MJ pulled into a gas station that Miles realized how lucky he was. She was filling up, or buying a vitamin water, or maybe she'd started smoking again! Whatever the case, a window of opportunity had slid open.

Maybe he could slip into the passenger side and talk the whole thing over?

He watched from the asphalt as MJ disappeared into the store. Seeing as how no jockey made themselves known, Miles assumed Mary Jane wasn't getting gas. Maybe if she took long enough...

The back of his neck prickled. Years of living hard-by had instilled within him a sense of self-preservation, one he'd learned from his Mama. Peering around the corner of his hood, Miles saw two people standing at a nearby bus stop—an older woman and a slightly younger man—her son maybe. And the look on the woman's face told Miles everything he needed to know where audible words failed. He realized, from this meddlesome old bitch's plain disdain and borderline panic, that to her, the sight of a young punk with a hood up following a lone white female was cause to raise the alarm.

Anger lashed at his insides, as it always did when the foul, rank head of racism reared its despicable head. Never mind that he was friends with MJ; never mind that a few scuffles with bullies in school were the worst things he'd ever done; never mind that he was half-Puerto Rican—as if that would matter. Nope—all ignorant asshats like this woman and her companion could see was that he was different from them.

Cursing under his breath, Miles shook the hood from his head, and kicked the stand of his bike. Looking both ways, he hurried across the street. He glanced back once to see that the woman was now muttering darkly to the young man. As it tended to do in these cases, Miles' paranoia ramped up. He wondered how many other people were looking at him. In his rational mind he knew it was few verging on none; that this woman was the exception to the growing norm of minding your own damn business and not being a complete jerk wad. But he was only human—a young one who'd been through too much in too short a time.

He hated that he had to watch his stride; that he had to keep his hands out of his pockets and his expression blank verging on vacuous—all things Mama had told him when she'd had the first difficult conversation of his life, years before the Birds and the Bees.

"I could care less how it makes you feel," she'd said, her own body shaking with rage. "This ain't about your feelings, baby. It's about staying alive. You can find it as unfair as you want, but you do not do a single thing to put yourself in harm's way. They don't care. To them, you're not a person; your intentions don't matter. You're always going to be a potential to some of these assholes. You wanna rage about it, you do it under this roof. Do you understand?"

Sure, he did. He understood that society was ass backwards, justice was corrupt and certain people like Mrs. Hairdo across the street had too much of a voice for being so goddamn stupid. And yeah he didn't like it. But why did he have to stay silent? Why did anyone under the thumb of oppression have to "put up with it"? The poor, the struggling, the victimized, the "different"—why did any of them have to simply get by while the darknesses in the world drew round them?

Small wonder, he reasoned, that he'd hero-worshipped Spider-Man. But Spider-Man was currently on his way to Philadelphia, and he only had a sliver of information, most of it hearsay. If Miles were there—if Miles could tell him what had actually happened—then he'd be better equipped. But first he had to get out of this pickle before it spiralled into tragedy.

He was within a foot of the door when MJ, distracted, exited. She nearly bumped into him, and when she saw him, the small bag clutched in her hand nearly toppled to the ground.

"Oh!" Her eyes widened. Then she frowned. "Miles, what are you doing here on a weekend?"

"I..." His throat went dry. He wanted to tell the truth—to be honest. She was his friend, and his Mama's best friend after all. But she'd get mad, because he'd eavesdropped, and he'd followed her like some sneak thief.

"I guess that's not fair," MJ said with a harried sigh. "Peter and I weren't supposed to be back until today, either."

"P-problems on the honeymoon?"

MJ shook her head. "Not really. Like, not what you're thinking. We just...there was some tweaker at the resort. Kind of ruined everything for us."

Not a tweaker, Miles knew. Because what had really happened from the sounds of things was that the buggy monstrosity who'd killed the man known was Ben had shown up to some capacity. Miles pulse raced at the memory; his face drained of color.

"Oh my god, sweetie." MJ, abandoning what was likely a mission to follow Peter and Eddie to Philly, stared at him with raw concern. "Are you okay? What's—

"Pardon me," said a voice with all the charm of a crooked real estate agent, "but is this guy bothering you?"

An ice storm would have been warmer than the change that came over MJ. It took less than the human eye could detect but it was enough quail Miles, and he wasn't even on the receiving end. Mary Jane turned to face the man who'd been with the woman at the bus stop. His cheap business suit screamed middle class phoniness; the false smile he wore would have been more at home on a bench advertising natural tanning solutions.

"Why yes," MJ said, her voice like a the chilly grasp of winter, "this guy _is_ bothering me. This guy with the bad suit, bleached smiled and crooked haircut."

The smarm slid from the bastard like slime. "I didn't think—

"No," MJ replied, "I don't think you ever do. Now mind your own goddamn business before I make you ruin the front of your corduroys."

With a glare at Miles—as if it were _his_ fault—the man shuffled away.

"Jesus Christ, I do not know why I still live in this hellhole sometimes," MJ muttered. She heaved a sigh, and took Miles by the wrist. "Sorry that happened, Miles. Come on, I'll take you home."

Mute, Miles allowed MJ to lead her to the Jeep. He had to say something—anything—but his tongue wouldn't work. A combination of weariness and furious shock at what had just happened had stolen his voice. He felt the seat under his ass, heard the engine rumble. MJ's playlist played from the speakers, a tasteful mix of alternative and classic rock. Miles knew that she collected songs the way some people did miniatures. And if he didn't say anything she might lose one of those beloved people.

 _Speak_ , he screamed at himself as the car moved. _Speak, damn you, speak!_

The Jeep paused at a red light. They were going the wrong way. T

hey had to turn around.

Miles began to quake.

"Miles?" MJ's voice, now sharp in its concern, was the pull of the lynchpin. Hot tears streamed down his cheeks. He buried his head in his heads. The car lurched forwards, and then listed to the side. She was pulling over, wasting more time.

"Wrong way," Miles managed to croak.

"What are you talking about, Queens is—

"I have to go with you."

"Yes because I'm dropping you—

"Philadelphia." Miles furiously rubbed his eyes on the back of his hands. Vision clear, he looked at Mary Jane and saw that she was sitting ramrod straight in her seat. The sound of Joni Mitchell's " _Both Sides Now_ " was the only noise in the car for several tense moments. Outside, a moving van zoomed by, the rushing blast almost deafening.

"How did you know I was going to Philadelphia?" She spoke in be same forced calm-before-the-storm she'd used with the bastard back at the convenience store. Once upon a time, Miles knew she'd have exploded—let the ice shards rain down. But she was older, master and commander of her emotions. Miles wanted to be like that.

He took a rallying breath. "I heard. From the window. Yours was open and so was mine and I heard...everything."

MJ gripped the steering wheel by both sides. Then she repeatedly began slamming her forehead into the middle. Loud beeps filled the air; her fiery hair flung back and forth as she let out a litany of angry curses.

"MJ!" Miles yelped.

She glared at him through the missed up strands of her hair. When she spoke it was with a growl that sent a chill down his back. "If you tell anyone, I don't care that you're my best friend's son, I will _end_ you."

"I would never!" He felt stung by her assignation.

MJ sighed, put the car into drive and continued down the way they were going.

"Wait!" Miles said. "No, you have to take me with you!"

"I have to do no such thing. Just because you happened to overhear a _private_ conversation doesn't make you a part of this."

"Yes, it does."

"No, it does not."

"You don't get it!"

"I guess not!"

"I was the one who turned that serum over to Felicia!"

The Jeep swerved for a moment, but MJ was too skilled a driver to let it completely go off the skids. Miles knew it was only through sheer force of concentration that she didn't stare at him as continued to drive.

"Are you _kidding_ me?"

Miles shook his head. "I wish I was. But MJ, I was there that night. I saw that thing—that flying monster thing." He swallowed as the images flooded his recollection. "She killed that man...that other Spidey. Ben was his name. He gave me the syringe and I held onto it until the wedding night when I ran into Felicia."

A tic worked furiously at MJ's jaw, but she didn't tell him to cork it.

"This woman took Ben away," Miles went on. "She opened some kind of portal..."

"What makes you think you'll be any help?" MJ said. "I'm hardly any help when it comes to the heroics, but at least I've stared those gun barrels down before."

"So have I," Miles said. "Twice now. Carnage and now this. And I think...maybe Felicia will listen to me. I don't know why she got tangled up with the FF. But I have to be there. I have to..." To be held accountable, was what he truly wanted to say. If anything happened to Peter it would be on he, Miles, for getting them all involved in the first place.

With a frustrated sigh, MJ jerked the steering wheel to the left. Car horns blared around them, but she simply road the meridian and cruised down the opposite direction.

"I am going to regret this, I know it," she groaned. "And I doubt your Mom knows you're gone, either."

"Uh..."

"Get your phone out," MJ said.

With trembling fingers, Miles did as he was bid, and quickly hit his Mama's contact info. "Don't say anything," Mary Jane told him, "just leave the talking to me." Miles hit the speakerphone and waited for three dials.

"Baby, you know I'm at work—

"Hey Rio," MJ said.

"MJ? Why'd you have Miles's phone? And what the hell are you doing back so early?"

Mary Jane kept her eyes on the road as Miles held his phone to her. "Pete and me got bored, so we came back. As for Miles, we ran into each other. I'm in need of some company of a man who really does notice when I get my haircut so I thought I'd treat him to a day out. IHOP, Central Park—maybe a jaunt to Jersey to visit Natasha."

Rio chuckled. "Alright just have him back by ten."

"Yes ma'am."

"You there, kiddo?"

Feeling as if he had a rubber snake in his stomach, Miles said, "Yeah, Mama. I'm here. Thanks for letting me go out."

"Yes because I keep you under lock and key." God, he hated pulling the wool over her eyes. But he had to be there for this. She'd been so worried about him all week, ever since he'd seen Ben die. "Love you, honey."

"Love you too."

Then the line went dead.

MJ scowled at nothing. "I hate lying to your mother."

"Me too."

They drove in silence for a moment. Then, feeling thoroughly unhappy, Miles asked, "Does Peter really not notice your haircuts?"

She smiled a little. "Oh, he does. He's quite the unicorn."

Miles peered out the window. They were going rather fast. "Are we going to even make it there in time?"

"We will. You've never driven with me before, Miles. In fact, we might even get there before Spider-Man and Venom do."

Closing his eyes, Miles sent a silent plea to the universe: _I hope we do._

* * *

Venom and Spider-Man made it to Philly a little after twelve-thirty in the afternoon. Stationed at the very top of a radio tower, Spider-Man took the more pedestrian route of withdrawing his cell phone and simply dialing the last number Felicia had given him.

"Well," he sighed, pocketing the device, "there goes that decision tree. I guess she just have changed her info in the last year." He glanced down at Venom, half dangling off the side of the wire frame tire. Noticing that their eyes were closed, Spider-Man cocked his head to the side. "Hey, Tiny!" He said. "This is no time to be catching a nap."

But Venom didn't answer. Based on the even rise and fall of their chest, Spider-Man assumes they really were sleeping. Glaring at his friend, the hero crawled down the side of the frame and was just about to poke the behemoth in the shoulder when a thin tendril of symbiote swatted his hand to the side.

"Hey!"

"You're distracting us," Venom breathed.

"I'm sorry to disrupt your power nap, Gwyneth, but—

"Not napping. And be nice, now. I know for a fact that you're subscribed to the Goopfellas podcast."

Spider-Man went slightly red beneath his mask. "That is neither here nor there! And speaking of which—

"We're sensing them," Venom explained. Peering closer, Spider-Man indeed noticed that there appeared to be millions of small little polyps bristling along Venom's skin.

He wrinkled his nose. "That's gross."

"And functional." They breathed in again. "We're in luck that our little kitty cat is enhanced. And that she's travelling with a mutant. It's like smelling the one rose in a garden of wildflowers. Well...one rose and one stubbed out cigar."

Impressed, Spider-Man hung back. A stiff breeze blew over the city. Small wonder, then, that Venom was detecting the scent and signature of those they were pursuing. He himself could smell just about everything about the immediate vicinity: foods from restaurants, exhaust from the passing vehicles. But Venom was far more attuned to the subtler things.

"Remember when we chased down that human trafficking ring?" Spider-Man watched a passing seagull as it soared over the parking lot. "And you figured out they were hiding those poor people in the furniture van and not the shipping crate? All because your senses are like Rank S compared to mine." He spoke with pride—his envy towards most people had vanished a long time ago.

Venom's head jerked upwards, and their membranous eyes opened.

"What is it?" Spider-Man fell and then stabled himself next to them.

"Your wife." And with that, they charged away, falling several feet to the street level before swinging over the heads of the pedestrians below. Blinking, Spider-Man shook his head, fired a line, and followed suit.

"Yes please," he called as he drew level with Venom, "drop a quote from an underrated Michelle Pfeiffer vehilce and leave me high and dry. You know I get a kick out of that. What do you mean 'my wife?'"

"Wife," Venom said, arching higher as they swung near a business street rife with taller buildings. "Noun. Married woman considered in relation to her spouse. And by yours I mean Mary Jane."

Spider-Man's pulse quickened. "Here? What the hell?" He knew better than to doubt Venom's senses. Besides, he knew it would be just like Mary Jane, to make the big shots feel like they were the only ones capable of idiotic heroics and then volunteer herself as tribute.

Venom landed, clinging to one side of a movie theater marquee. Spider-Man landed just above them, waiting as they sensed the air once more.

They chuckled deeply after a few seconds.

"Clever girl," they said. Then, with an upward glance, added, "Take three guesses as to who she just met up with."

Spider-Man's eyes widened. "You're joking?"

"Not this time. Looks like celebrity can do what super powers and law enforcement couldn't."

Relief ran through his bloodstream, warm and refreshing after the prickling dread he'd felt. MJ getting involved in yet another one of his fiascos, was the least thing he wanted at the moment. But if she'd been able to exert some of her media influence for the greater good, then he'd do nothing but spoil her rotten in gratitude.

"Where are they?"

"The refinery."

Spider-Man smirked. "Of course."

"Not the last place anyone would look," Venom said, webbing a line across the street. "Quite obvious if you're sniffing for a vagabond..."

"But easy enough to lose someone in if you're running away, yeah."

Venom chuckled. "She hasn't changed. Maybe MJ can work the motive from her before we get there."

It took less than ten minutes to swing to the industrial zone of the city. It's smoke stacks towered like so many fingers, as if warning the spread of the nearest residential neighborhood to stay well back. After the explosion that had rocked it, the place was practically a ghost town. But even Spider-Man, high up as he was, could see the rugged shape of a very familiar Jeep parked amidst the jungle of steel and beams below.

He chuckled. "That's my girl," he said, and went into a fall that sent air whipping past him. He landed just shy of his wife's car. A moment later, Venom impacted the concrete, making a dent in the ground and sending rocks flying everywhere. Spider-Man glared over his shoulder as pebbles bounced off his back of his head.

The symbiote slid down Eddie's face. "Sorry about that, puddin'."

"We're working on your landings when we get home."

"That's fair." Then he frowned, and the symbiote crawled over him again. Spider-Man had heard it to—the rough, gravelly voice from several hundred yards away—undetectable by ordinary senses but carried to him slightly clearly by his spider sense.

"—judging from the smell of things you two ain't the only ones just dropped in."

Spider-Man and Venom glanced at each other. Venom spread their arms, as if to say "what did you expect, he's a mutant remember?"

Wondering what in the world Logan meant by two, Spider-Man strode in the direction of the voice, Venom flanking him. He rounded the side of a refinery silo the size of a radio transformer, and his jaw dropped.

There, indeed, stood Felicia and Logan, the former wearing a civilian mish mash of a denim jacket and shapeless jeans that still somehow made her look like the aspect of Aphrodite come to earth. Her hair was hidden beneath a baseball cap, but he'd have recognized her anywhere. A motorcycle was dropped against the side of the silo, and next to it, Logan seemed like a prowling bodyguard, his muscles bulging from outside of the muscle shirt he wore.

And there, also, was Mary Jane, who didn't look at all ruffled by the appearance of her superhero husband, or their symbiotic best friend. In fact, she looked at him rather as if she'd expected this the whole time. He ought to have given her more credit—she was, after all, tenacious beyond all expectation.

What had him completely knocked off his game was Miles Morales. The kid looked guiltily at Spider-Man, his eyes darting to Venom with something like awe and dread.

Spider-Man took a breath. Then he pointed at Miles, then to MJ, then Felicia, gestured at all of them inclusively, raised his hands to the sky as he said: "What are you doing here, how did you get here, why did you get the jump on the Fantastic Four, where do we go from here, when is any of this going to start making sense and who..." He sighed. "...let the dogs out."

Miles took a tentative step forward. "I'm sorry Peter—

MJ and Felicia both made tutting, shushing sounds; Venom growled. Only Spider-Man, trained after years of this kind of thing, remained resolute.

"Sorry, kid, but you've got the wrong bloke."

Mary Jane rolled her eyes. "Tiger, don't. He knows." She gave Miles an imperious glare that would have impressed his mother. "Someone was eavesdropping like they weren't raised any better."

"Hey," Miles protested, "the window was open and—

"What is the point," Spider-Man said to Logan, who seemed to be the only one unaffected by this whole soap opera, "of having a secret identity when people figure it out?"

Logan shrugged. "That's why us of the mutated persuasion usually stick together."

"I should have sent my résumé years ago."

"Don't think Charlie would have taken you on. He was...particular like that."

"When the two of you are done with the machismo," MJ said loudly. "There's an explanation waiting. Right, Miles and Felicia?"

Miles inhaled. "It was me who gave Felicia that serum. I was the one there that night when...when that other Spider-Man was killed."

"By the big, black, flying bug lady of doom," Spider-Man said with a sigh. As if Miles hadn't been through the ringer after what happened with Carnage. "I'm sorry you had to see that, Miles."

He shrugged. "Gotta keep plugging along, right?"

Spider-Man chuckled softly. Then, to Felicia, he said, "Why'd you scarper? Reed's the authority on all thing's unreality."

Felicia gave him a flat look. This close up he saw the redness on her eyes, and the shadows pulling at her lower lids. Being on the run was exhausting. Fitting that she'd been the one who'd encouraged him to hit the road when the Spider Slayers constructed by Otto Octavius and co-opted by a then vengeful Harry Osborn had been out for his blood and his blood alone. She was always running away, he realized. And that life would never be for him. Still, it had to take something away from a person, that lack of stability.

With withering tones, she said, "Because it that time of the month."

"Felicia." MJ's tone was sharp as steel—like a middle school teacher calling an unruly class of eighth graders to attention.

Rolling her eyes, Felicia said, "How often do you think rationally under duress, Spider?"

"You'd be surprised."

"Really now? What say we see how many warm fuzzies you feel when we take a field trip to the Rosenberg Clock Tower?"

Spider-Man had suffered various and sundry injuries in his career as a hero. That remark, so cruel in its carelessness, was one of the most intense pains he'd ever experienced. He stared, sensation drained from his body. He was dimly aware of Venom's growl—of the behemoth taking a menacing step forwards. But they wouldn't have really dared. But one among their number didn't hesitate to read a physical riot act.

Mary Jane's hand lashed outwards like a cat-o-nine tails. A moment later Felicia's head jerked to the side so fast that the baseball cap she wore toppled from her hair. Given her strength and endurance she probably barely felt it—then again, MJ had been training with the likes of Captain America and the Black Widow.

A good many people in the world would have reacted with shock at having struck a friend so. Spider-Man would have. But Mary Jane, despite her former wild child past, reserved her blows for the ones who deserved it, and so she didn't cover her mouth in horror or well up with tears. She folded her arms, stared impassively at Felicia, and didn't even cow when Logan growled in displeasure.

Some sort of silent understanding passed between the two women. Whatever shield Felicia had been wearing collapsed. Her chin quivered, and when next she spoke, she sounded truly overwhelmed.

"I was scared," she whispered. "They were supposed to keep it safe." She stared, not at Spider-Man or MJ or even Logan, but at Venom. It made sense, then—the FF had failed at keeping the symbiote safe when Carnage had been unleashed. And that was when she'd lost Harry.

Spider-Man sighed. "Okay. I get it. But they're not going to understand that, no matter how friendly we are with Johnny. You still caused a lot of damage and they want to turn you in."

"What exactly were you going to do with that serum, Leasie?" Venom asked.

It was Logan who took the reins. "Take it to the mansion. There's places we have access to from there that nobody'd look into. And we've got folks who could get to the bottom of this whole mystery Spider-Man and that flying monster."

Spider-Man nodded. "Fair enough...but they want _you_ , Felicia. We've got a timeframe to bring you in—

"Try it and you'll end up on the wrong side of a fly swatter," Logan said.

"-which is why," Spider-Man continued as if Logan hadn't spoken, "that's not going to happen." At the incredulous look on Felicia's face. "Hey, Johnny might have been my Best Man out of circumstance but we've got bigger fish to fry here. And I think you're right: at least the X-Men are better hidden and equipped to be a hiding place."

Felicia's shoulders visibly relaxed. "You're a gentlemen and a scholar."

"Damn right." He looked to Miles. "And you are going home until we figure out what's going on with this juice."

Miles glared. "I'm—

But just what exactly he was nobody ever found out. At that moment excruciating alarm rang in Spider-Man's body. He jerked around, his brain screaming danger at him—big danger beyond anything he'd ever experienced before. Venom's mouth opened in a feral snarl, and they crouched defensively, muscles rippling. Logan's claws sliced the air, and he stood as a shield before Felicia, MJ and Miles.

A ripple opened in the air several hundred feet away...and then a thing stepped through it.

* * *

Pity was so distant in the mind of the being known all throughout his eternity as Morlun that it made starlight look like a speck of dust on a beach. Once, in a time outside of anything at all, he'd burned with the idealism breathed into him by his creators—those celestial beings whose sheer cause was to weave the threads on the ever-growing web of existence.

But that was before he'd seen through the splendid illusion. It had all been a farce—their attempt to make meaningless specks in a vast canvas of natural nothing. The mistake they had made was assuming the gift bestowed onto him would be in service of balance.

Instead he used it to bring the natural order—to devour.

He'd walked through each spoke of the web, finding existence and rendering it null. Oh, but his creators had tried, back when they'd created all things that were—to station guardians, totems of the web in every plane of existence. All had fallen to Morlun's power. Even the celestial and eternal powers of reality had been cowed by his deviation, one among their number fleeing with her great, fiery wings spread wide.

No matter. Morlun had devoured everything in his path, had feasted on the totems, and here he was now. And when he hadn't, he had his servant to act through him. Usually she—his creation: the last twisted remains of a spider totem—would strike where he could not. The death of the other spiders left their realities vulnerable, and even if he could not consume them, they would still fall. One had escaped both his and Shathra's grasps, to this plane—but only just.

Morlun had expected her to succeed here, but time had gone by since he'd felt the stirring of her energy. And so it came to him to take action.

He hovered over a massive lake turned to ice. Through the layers of solid he felt Shathra, her lifeforce faint, dwindling.

Morlun cared nothing for Shathra as a being. Morlun cared about nothing at all. But in that she was his—a creation after so long spent consuming on his own—that she was a weapon to him—made the thought of her loss inconvenient.

He barely moved a muscle, and the thick ice over the lake—from snowy shore to snowy shore on all sides—exploded into fragments. Shards and pellets batted against Morlun but he did not feel them. His eyes fell upon the rapidly sinking black figure in the water below. Part of him found it annoying that she simply could not save herself. After all the spiders she'd done away with for him—after the gift he'd given her in allowing her to live when, like the others, he could simply have eaten her—her allowing herself to be trapped in such a rudimentary way was insulting.

But still...she had her uses.

Again, without so much as drawing breath, Morlun forced Shathra'a body to fly through the air towards him. He narrowed his eyes a fraction, and she spasmed with violent renewal.

When her eyes found him, they grew docile and afraid.

"Forgive me," she rasped, her wings beating slowly in supplication. "They were fassssster and sssssstronger..."

"Do not grovel." Morlun's voice contained the empty cold of deep space. "Your wasting time. How many are there?"

"Many."

"And the woman?"

"I do not know. She ssssssliped away."

Morlun glanced at an empty space in the air several feet away. He felt the totem through the distance of space and time. He wasn't alone, but that mattered little. Shathra would want revenge, and Morlun was more than happy to let his blade stab for him.

A rent opened up in the air. Morlun saw this reality's spider—lean and strong, garbed in colors of blue and red. He stood with others—two women, a man with dark hair, a tall youth and a hulking black creature with white eyes.

Morlun pointed to the portal he'd ripped in the air.

"Finish them," he said.

Shathra's eyes had narrowed into dangerous slits. Morlun felt the thirst for revenge radiate like steam from his creation.

With a hiss, Shathra darted into the portal. Gaze as empty and impassive as ever, Morlun floated and watched, his eyes fixed on the spider.

 **A/N: And after all this set up, here's our _real_ antagonist! **

**Some of the language in Morlun's section is actually telling of his background.**


End file.
